Dead Sea
by Tenderloins
Summary: Pre-Apocalypse, Emma Whitfield moves back into her childhood home and reunites with the not-so-welcoming Dixon Brothers, whom she grew up with. As she settles in, secrets are revealed and the town residents start rising from the dead. Can she strike a deal with the brothers to get her to safety? Or can they really be bothered... OCXwhotheheckknows
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

_Her tiny feet pattered across the grass quickly like she was being chased; her thoughts were spattered with lingering dreams of freedom and curiosity. As she reached the line drawn by nature to separate the trees and her new large back yard, she paused just long enough to peek over her shoulder to make sure her Daddy was too busy unloading the moving truck to notice where she'd run off to. With a small giggle, she crossed that line and her toes sunk into the seemingly inhabited land of the woods._

_The wideness of her eyes, as her gaze wandered through her dense surroundings, spoke volumes of how different her new home would be compared to the one she was born in. In Atlanta, the buildings took place of the trees and the stars never shone down from the heavens; she had been promised by her Momma that they would tonight. She shivered in response to her new surroundings but a small smile played at her tiny, pink lips because this was a whole new world for her. Not that she didn't like the hustle and bustle of the city but this…this was like a dream for her innocent little mind. _

_When her parents had sat her down and told her that they had bought a house in the country, she nearly deafened them with her squeal of excitement. The outdoors had always been her favorite place to be. She'd beg her Momma to take her to the park or on leisurely walks around the block so she could inhale the sweet fresh air and feel the wind against her cheeks. Every so often, her Daddy would take her on a drive out to where houses were scarce and land seemed to stretch for miles. He'd point out different landmarks and she'd listen to him like her parents listened to Pastor Eugene at church on Sundays. For a young girl, her brain thirsted for knowledge—even if that knowledge consisted of how they get the corn to grow so tall or why exactly it's necessary to hunt animals. _

_The little girl trampled slowly around the woods, making sharp noises with every footstep she took. There was little mind paid to how much mud her good, white church shoes collected or how often the hem of her baby blue dress brushed against a dirty tree. There was too much to see and too much to explore for little things like that to matter. A small ways into the forest, she found a creek and smiled at the tiny life that floated on the surface, thinking about all the fun things she could collect and bring home to her parents. Dragonflies buzzed by her ears, frogs hopped along the mud and tiny minnows darted through the crisp, clear water like they were on a mission. She giggled at a particular frog that had a heck of a time trying to make its way onto a small rock; it kept slipping and falling back into the water with a small plunk. _

_Just as she was about to give it a helping little pat on the rump, she heard a noise behind her. She jumped and turned around quickly, expecting to see her father using his dark, bushy eyebrow as a scolding tool. Instead, her eyes broadened to see a small boy, about her age, looking at her with a frown on his face. The boy was skinny and dirty; the only piece of clothing he had on was a pair of denim shorts that were much too big for his frame. Everywhere that his skin was exposed, there were patches of dirt, covering small bruises that he had no doubt gotten from the exposed limbs of the trees surrounding them. His hair was brown and messy; his eyes a blue that reminded the girl of her sweet Nana Betty whom they'd left in Atlanta. Except Nana Betty never looked so darn afraid._

"_Hi," she squeaked, smiling at the boy who continued to do a combination of frowning and blinking. "We just moved in to that house back there."_

_The boy pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and started gnawing on it. At this point, the girl was certain that he had no idea what she was saying, like Mowgli from The Jungle Book. _

"_Do you live out here?" Her imagination was running wild; thoughts of the boy, swinging from tree to tree and making friends with all the animals made her smile at him. "Up in the trees?"_

_His frown turned into an expression of confusion and he slowly shook his head; the flesh of his bottom lip popped out of his mouth as he grazed his fingernails along his arm, itching himself. _

_She sighed. "I'm Emma Grace Whitfield," she said proudly. "I come from Atlanta. You ever been to Atlanta?" He shook his head again and as she continued to speak, the tension in the boy's muscles seemed to slowly melt. She took that as a sign to keep on rambling because her Momma had always told her that the way into a stranger's heart is by kindness. "Atlanta is fun but I like it here, too. There's lots of things to do here. My Daddy said that he's gonna build me a big tree house up in that tree in our backyard." She pointed toward the direction of the house… or what she thought was the direction of the house and the boy's blue eyes followed her movement. "You can come and play up there with me sometime, if you want."_

_Now he was looking at her as if he'd never seen anyone before and at this point, she was certain that her Jungle Book theory held water. She imagined teaching him things like how to wear shoes and the alphabet; giving him his first taste of strawberry ice cream. Maybe, her parents would let him live in that bedroom that no one was using instead of her Momma turning it into a stitching room._

"_You like ice cream?" The boy shrugged and took a cautious step toward her. Her smile grew. "You ever had ice cream?"_

_He swallowed and after a few moments, nodded his head. "Yup."_

_She nearly jumped for joy at the small sound that came from him but settled for hopping up on her toes a few times. "What's your favorite flavor?"_

"_I only ever had 'nilla before," he replied. His voice was different from hers but she paid no mind because her Nana always said that differences in people made the world a better place. "'Spose, I'd like others."_

_She nodded. "Strawberry is my favorite." With no hesitation, she walked closer to him and sat her small rump on a large, moss-covered log that was sure to ruin her dress for good. But her thoughts were on other things at the moment and she'd deal with the repercussions of her carelessness when she returned home to her Momma and Daddy. She used the palm of her pale, soft hand to pat the log beside her. "You can sit down, if you want."_

_For some reason, this seemed to frighten the boy and he looked around as if he were searching for someone; then he looked the little girl up and down, his eyes getting larger when he zeroed in on her feet. "Ya shoes are gonna need cleaned."_

_She held up a foot, the mud causing the weight of her foot to startle her. "Sometimes, my Momma gets mad at me when I get dirty. Does your Momma get mad at you for gettin' dirty?"_

_He rubbed his palms against the thighs of his shorts. "I can help you clean 'em if you want."_

_Her smile was bright and it nearly made the boy smile along with her. "What's your name?"_

_He ran a hand through his mess of brown hair and said, "Daryl."_

"_Nice to meet you, Daryl," she said, proud that she'd remembered exactly how to introduce herself in a polite manner. "I'm Emma."_

"_You done said that," he said, his eyes searching the trees again._

"_You live here?" she repeated because she was convinced that he did even though he'd shook his head in response the first time she'd asked. "I bet it's fun to live up in the trees."_

_His face scrunched up. "I live back that'a ways… just before you get to the grain mill."_

_Her face lit up. "I live by that mill place, too." She swung her foot in a casual gesture and the mud pulled her shoe right off her foot. The boy's eyes trained in on the shoe—that had zero whiteness to it all anymore—and they nearly bugged out of his skull. She giggled again at his expression and he shook himself, his eyes searching the trees again. "What are you looking for? You see an animal?"_

_Excitement nearly made her burst as she thought of possibly seeing wildlife on the first day in her new house. Her Daddy had promised her deer and rabbits and raccoons on their long drive out to the new house but the thought of seeing one, just that second, made her internally squeal._

"_Nah, my brother is out 'ere somewhere," he answered. "He won't be none too happy to see me talkin' to ya." _

_She tilted her head, a ring of dark curls falling over her shoulder and nearly onto her lap. "Why? You're brother ain't nice?"_

_He shrugged. "Sometimes, he can be but not today. I made him mad this morning so he's out lookin' for me."_

"_Why'd he get mad at 'cha?" she asked, tilting her head in question._

_He hesitated, looking the girl up and down again as if he was trying to judge in those few seconds of consideration whether she could be trusted. "I put a snake in his boot."_

_The little girl gasped softly. "A snake?"_

_He shrugged and then nodded his head, suddenly looking quite a bit guilty for his admission as he focused his eyes on his dirty, bare feet._

"_What's he gonna do when he finds you?" Her voice had turned to a whisper, for reasons that she couldn't explain. "Is he gonna be mean to you?"_

_It didn't seem to matter to Emma that the boy did, in fact, put a snake in his brother's shoe and there were absolute reasons why Daryl was being hunted by his brother. Her concern lay with Daryl, since he was being so nice to her and she was willing to bet that at some point, his brother had done something to him that was just as foolish. Emma couldn't explain this unexpected protectiveness she felt for Daryl, especially since she was no bigger than him._

_In response to her obvious concern, he smiled at her for the first time. "He'll get over it. I just hafta stay clear of 'em till then."_

_Emma shared a moment of a smile with him before hearing her name being called loudly by her father. If memory served her correctly, the tone of his voice indicated that he was slightly panicked and she was sure that there was a lecture waiting for her on the other side of those trees. _

"_Tha' your Daddy?" he asked, his eyes looking in the direction that her name was coming from. There was a foreign emotion in clear blue eyes that the little girl couldn't decipher, most likely because of her naïve and innocent lifestyle. _

_She nodded, her eyes growing in size. "He's gonna be mad when I get back. I sorta sneaked off." With a noise, she stuffed her foot back into her shoe and yanked it free from the mud. She smiled at the skinny boy and waved with the tips of her fingers. "I'll see ya, Daryl."_

_When she went to move past him, he reached out and crooked his fingers around her elbow. "You live up in that big 'ol blue house with the white porch?" She nodded. "That big house is that'a way." His skinny finger pointed in the opposite direction from where she was headed._

"_Thank you," she squeaked, moving past him again to go in the direction he pointed. _

_She stomped through the forest toward her new house, her muscles growing weary from carrying so much extra weight of mud and grime. By the time she reached the tree line and she saw her parents heading toward her with concern written all over their faces, she was exhausted. Before she could start preparing herself for her Momma's concerned reprimand or her Daddy's signature eyebrow, the sound of a snapping twig caused her to look over her shoulder._

_Daryl stood beside a big rock, his fingers scratching at his arm and his eyes squinting at her from the distance. She smiled to herself when she realized that he'd followed her home._


	2. Chapter One

_**A/N: This is my first WD fanfic. Also, it's my first time writing in third person so I hope it flows okay. :) Mostly, it will be in my OC's POV but every once in a while, we'll get someone else's. **_

_**Disclaimer: No infringement intended. I own nothing.**_

* * *

**"Hold on to me as we go**

**As we roll down this unfamiliar road**

**And all this wave is stringing us along**

**Just know you're not alone**

**I'm going to make this place your home"**

**Home~ Phillip Phillips**

* * *

**Chapter One**

All she could do was stare at the house. The differences. The things that were the same. The sight of it was overwhelming for her and it took several once-overs from her bright brown eyes to come to terms with where she was. It had been nearly twenty years since her feet had stood in that front yard and the reasons that she was there now were beyond her. But, it was hers now and there wasn't anything she could do to take it back.

A cold nose skimmed over her hand that was dangling at her side, followed by a rough, wet tongue. She ran her palm over the course hairs on top of her dog's head and sighed, "Hell, Max…" She found that she couldn't stare at the house enough, perplexed at her situation. The driveway had once been gravel, the shutters were now black instead of dark gray and the porch had been replaced and refurbished but it was definitely the right house. There was no mistaking the large second floor patio that sat outside her old bedroom, right next to the infamous Oak that had been a friend to her so many years ago. The light blue color of the aluminum siding made a smile push at her lips because it had been her favorite damn color for most of her life. Blue. The color was like a safety net, as strange as it seemed, but it was what it was.

She looked down at Max and his eyes lit up at the attention. "What the hell have I gotten myself into, boy? You're supposed to keep me from doing stupid shit like this."

With a soothing word, she ordered the dog to search the property and he took off, nose to the ground and tail straight in the air. It was sad how much she depended on that silly, four-footed animal for companionship and protection. He was a great judge of character which was good because she tended to see the worst in everyone. It was a result of a bad situation that never should have happened. But you live and learn and that's exactly what she did.

Max came back to her side a few minutes later and she was slightly embarrassed that she had been standing in the same spot with the same astonished expression on her face. At least, her dog didn't give a shit whether she had no faith in her decision making skills. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a treat and tossed it in the air, laughing when Max jumped and caught it in his mouth.

"Charmer," she called him and walked past him toward the house. The newly redone porch made her frown; the gap that she used to slip through as child had been closed up. Hiding under the porch wasn't something a typical seven year old daughter of polite southern parents would do but that was her. Emma Whitfield wasn't known for doing typical things, especially in her youth. She furrowed her eyebrows, deep in thought, wondering if her collection of odd shaped rocks was still sitting under that porch, waiting to be shelved. That rock collection was more than an annoyance for her mom, who'd on more than one occasion, gave a stiff scolding to a dirty-kneed Emma.

The smile was back as she turned her key into the lock and pushed open the door to her repurchased home. The hard wood floors produced an eerie glare as the sun set in the red Georgia sky. The walls were a different color but the fireplace was just as she remembered it—brick and black metal. She padded up the steps and went straight to her old bedroom, her eyes widening at the biggest change yet: Pretty pink bunnies and flourishing yellow daisies laughed at her from the wallpaper. She let out an annoyed laugh because she'd left it a navy blue, an odd rebellious move that had made her dad pull at his thinning gray hair upon return from a dental conference in Atlanta. Her mom nearly shook her head and sighed because painting her room a dark and depressing color wasn't the most defiant thing that Emma had done as a teenager.

Swallowing heavily, she walked out onto the patio and eyed the large Oak outside her bedroom with anxious brown eyes. That tree, whose branches reached out like arms, was like an old friend. It had grown, of course, which was expected after a twenty year absence but it was still so damn familiar. The rough bark and close vicinity had made it a prime climbing tool, so she could escape in the night. Or someone else could escape to her.

A lump formed in her throat and she breathed the emotions away deeply, wondering again why in the hell she'd gone and done this shit. Clearing her throat, she exited her old bedroom and made a quick sweep through the old house, making notes in her head of what she would need to buy in the next few months to make her winter comfortable. There hadn't been much that she'd brought with her—her clothes, of course, some necessary hygiene products and her top notch coffee maker that Charlotte had gotten her for her birthday a few months back.

She sighed heavily at the thought of Charlotte and trudged through the back yard, her eyes moving quickly to that familiar place on the tree line. Her breath caught in her throat when her eyes skimmed across the plot of land two hundred yards away from her house. The neighboring rustic log cabin that had been there was gone, replaced by a large trailer. Emma squinted at the trailer, unable to tell whether it was abandoned or in use; the yellowed blinds were closed and an old tractor sat rusting on the front yard. Her heart grew heavy and a feeling of disappointment swept through her when she realized that the boys she'd grown up with were gone. The house had vanished, along with any hope she had of rekindling a friendship with the one person in her life that had understood her as a young girl. After a moment, she shrugged because what did she expect? It had been a long fucking time. Who lived in one place their entire lives? Not many people and it was stupid of her to think that she could just move back in and expect something different.

* * *

"Are you sure that you're okay?"

Emma sighed dramatically so that the determined woman on the other end of the line would get the fucking point this time. "Yes, mom, I'm fine."

"Em, I just wish you'd explain to me why you feel the need to go back to this place." She paused, hoping that her daughter would defend her actions. Truth be told, Emma wasn't sure how to explain it to her. There had been some sort of mystical magnetism that had drawn her back, as soon as she saw the post online, she hadn't even thought twice about it…until she'd actually stepped foot on the property, anyway. There had been so many good memories on the land surrounding the house; so many experiences that she still found herself drawing from that she couldn't let it go. Emma was successful and had worked hard to gain the means to finally find a place to settle down in; a place that she could call home. "Did you have some sort of traumatizing experience and you need to retrace your roots or something?"

Emma's mom, Glenda Whitfield, was a psychiatrist, in case you couldn't tell.

"I just… I had a lot of good memories here and I never wanted to leave this house. You know that. I loved it here." Emma took a silent puff of her cigarette, hoping against all hope that her mom wouldn't be able to tell she was smoking. Sure, she was thirty six years old but motherly dissatisfaction was a bitch.

"Well, what's it like?"

Emma shrugged, even though she couldn't see her. "It's strange to be back but… good, actually."

"Are you feeling Nostalgic?" she asked, a smile in her tone.

Emma smiled in return and exhaled a stream of smoke through pursed lips. "Oh, yes."

"Do you need any furniture? You know your Uncle Manny still owns that resale shop in Atlanta and it's only a couple hours away. He'd give you a good discount." Emma chuckled and her mother balked on the other end. "What? I'm just worried about you, sweetie. We've never lived this far apart before. I feel…well, I feel a little helpless."

Emma snorted. "You're the one that decided to move to Tampa." With a shift of weight in the cheap patio chair she was sitting in, it squeaked and she held still for a moment, sure that her ass was moments from busting through. "Plus, I am thirty six years old, mother."

Glenda hummed obnoxiously. "You'll always be my little girl."

_Oh, fuck that_. Emma inhaled a puff of nicotine, trying to be obvious about it now. If her mother was going to play dirty then so was she. "Stop that, woman, or I'll lose your number."

It was the older woman's turn to snort. "You wouldn't know what to do if you couldn't chat with your old mom, Em." There was an air of self-satisfaction to her tone. "In fact, I bet you couldn't go a week without my advice."

"I could too." Emma sucked in a deep drag of smoke and blew it out loudly. "And I'll prove it to you."

"Are you smoking?"

The question was ignored. "How's Frank?"

Glenda hesitated, wondering if she should ask again or just move on; Emma grinned at her mother's lack of control over the conversation. It was how their relationship worked and they both enjoyed the other's challenge. "He's fine. Golfing again. I swear that man could golf until his balls fell off."

Emma sputtered and coughed. "Mom, please…. Please, don't ever talk about Frank's balls. That's just…" With a disgusted noise, she audibly shuddered. "Gross."

Glenda made a noise. "He is my husband, Em. You didn't answer my question. Are you smoking again?"

With a smile, the younger version of Glenda blew smoke into the phone as if it would come out on the other end in a response to the question. "What can I say? I did mention the whole nostalgic thing, right?"

"Emma Grace..." she said in warning, her southern accent making a fast reappearance.

"Thirty six," Emma sang in response.

She swallowed any argument she had and moved on to a different subject. "So, are they still living in the cabin?"

Emma's entire body tensed at the mention of the cabin. "Why? What makes you ask?"

She hesitated. "I don't know… just curious, I guess. I just want you to be safe and if I knew you had to live next to that…that disgusting man, it would make me a nervous wreck."

Emma adjusted her position, the chair creaking again against the shift of burden that was her ass. "I highly doubt that the monster is still alive, with how much that guy drank. Hopefully, he's six feet in the ground and rotting in hell."

Typically, Glenda didn't encourage violent thoughts from her child but in this case, it was called for. "Well," she sighed and even though Emma knew the question as coming, she still wasn't prepared to answer it. "Are you going to talk to him? Tell him about—"

Emma cut her off. "The cabin is gone."

"Gone?"

"Yep. Gone. There's a trailer there and it looks empty so I doubt that I'll ever even see him again." Emma took a deep, much-needed pull from her Marlboro and swallowed the seed of emotion that her mom had just planted. "Even if he were still there, I wouldn't tell him."

Her mother scoffed. "You know how I feel about that."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah… trust me, I know."

A moment of silence played between the two of them before Glenda changed the subject. "Have you heard from Char?"

Emma pouted visibly. "No, but I'm sure she's busy. If I were her, I wouldn't want to talk to me either."

"You miss her, sweetie?" she asked.

Tears brimmed on the edges of Emma's eyelids and she blinked them away quickly. "So much that it hurts."

"So, call her," she advised. "The worst that can happen is that she won't answer her phone."

With a deep exhale, Emma tossed her cigarette butt over the patio railing. "I will. She said she's coming home for Christmas but not Thanksgiving. Do you think that she'll like the house?"

"Of course she will," she replied. "As long as you don't make her go out to that creek and collect tadpoles."

Emma laughed, thankful for her Mom's ability to steer her away from things that would make her cry. "She'd love it."

After they'd said their "I love you's" and disconnected the call, Emma let her head fall back against the metal back rest of the chair. She could feel the softness of her rear poking through the squared slots of the economical lawn chair and sighed. She'd never been a tiny girl but she was proud of her body and what it had been through in her thirty six years. Her hips and rear were a bit on the curvy side but she'd managed to take up jogging which had kept the rest of her body in pretty good shape. Being a tomboy as a little girl, she never did grow accustomed to having her hair or nails done; there was no shoe or handbag obsession like her other friends had. At the beginning of the day, it was refreshing to just pull her hair into a ponytail and go, unless she had a rare business meeting then she'd spend the extra hour to put on makeup and do her hair. However, just because she didn't get dressed up a lot, didn't mean that she couldn't appreciate the way it made her feel when she did. She'd never really felt beautiful and had been told numerous times that she wasn't but there were also people who'd told her that she was. Luckily, the people who been kind to her were still in her life which was what she needed.

Looking around the dark yard, she shivered and pulled her sweater tighter around her body. Soon enough, it would be too cold to sit out and enjoy the peace of her second floor patio. October was ending fast and there was so much she needed to get done before winter hit. It didn't get as Chicago-cold here in Georgia but it got chilly and she craved the nights when she could shut up her house and sit in front of the fire place with her laptop and a glass of wine.

"I gotta get crackin', Max," she said aloud. The dog picked up his head and cocked his head at her, waiting for a command; when none came, he sighed and put his chin back down on his paws. Her body seemed suddenly heavier at the thought of going shopping in town again.

She'd been here a week and she still hadn't gotten much done. After only one trip to town since she had moved in, all she had to show for it was a twin size mattress and two lawn chairs. Her clothes sat in heaps and boxes of dishes still sat on the granite counters of her kitchen, being unpacked as they were needed. _Tomorrow,_ she told herself, _tomorrow, I'll get my act together_. At least, she'd unpack her fucking laptop and do a little work before uncracking a beer and flopping down on her lazy ass for the remainder of the afternoon.

With a sigh of relief and boredom, she grabbed her current bottle of beer by the neck and took a long pull. "Max, it's about time for—"

The sound of a loud motor broke her spoken thought and Max jumped to his feet, walking to the rear edge of the balcony. The sound was coming from the trailer behind the house and Emma's curiosity burned at the prospect of having a neighbor. Unfortunately, the chair she'd been sitting in didn't want to cooperate and the seams of the seat ripped as she shifted to get up. Her ass fell clean through the metal square, and she grunted as her knees were yanked into her chest. The bottle of beer hit the wood with a loud clank and she fell onto her back, twisted into a knot of legs and flailing arms. Adding insult to injury, Max decided that it was the perfect time to attempt a make out session with the only lady in his life – her.

"Ugh! Max, for the love of fucking—" A little lesson to us all: When a dog is trying to stick his tongue in your mouth, for the love of God, don't try to talk because it makes for a rather convenient opening for their long, rough tongue. Emma spat out his tongue but he continued to assault her mouth as she battled with both the Canine and the metal wrapped around her ass.

Finally, she was able to push the dog away from her and get unraveled but not before the sound of the engine was sharply cut off. Being a person who didn't give up easily, she floundered to her feet and sped down the stairs, barely missing a possible broken ankle in the process. She flipped the outside light off in an effort to hide her psychotic peeping tom personality traits and spy-walked to the large Oak in her back yard.

The trailer sat at least two hundred yards away and there wasn't much light but she could make out two male voices coming from outside. One was loud, a bit obnoxious and the other mumbled replies in a half-hearted, uninterested tone. For a moment, she thought they were getting into a fight and her bare toes dug into the dirt as she prepared her instinctive flee response.

But then, Emma saw them. Well, she didn't really _see_ them but she saw their forms as they both flopped down in chairs on the front lawn in front of the trailer. They had some sort of bottled beverage in their hands and their postures were relaxed and lazy. One of the men was rather large, his shoulders broad and intimidating while the other was lean and sharp.

With a gulp, the possibilities raced through her half-drunk brain. The desire for a cigarette was overwhelming and she wondered what the possibility was of them noticing the redness of a lit butt from behind a large tree.

"I should go in," she hissed at Max as he watched her from a sitting position on the ground. "This is entirely creepy and…and totally uncalled for." He may have shrugged. Emma followed suit with her own shrug, deciding that she couldn't get any more pathetic, and managed to finagle a Marlboro out of the nearly crushed pack in her pocket. "What else am I going to do? Besides, they can't see me so what harm is it doing?" Max replied by using his back foot to scratch at his ear. She lit the cigarette sneakily and whined, "Fuck, I need some friends."

For the next hour—or so—the nosy girl watched the two as they did nothing out of the ordinary in their front lawn. The most exciting moment came when the bigger one started telling a seemingly hilarious story and he had to make lots of dramatic hand gestures as he told it. Emma may have smiled at that point of the evening, even though she had no fucking clue what he was talking about. When she was on her fourth smoke and her sanity was starting to creep away into the night, she snuck back into the house with sore leg muscles and aching lungs.

Max cocked his head at her as she brushed her teeth. "What?" she asked around a mouthful of toothpaste. "It was harmless."

As Emma lay on her small, hard mattress and stared up at the ceiling, she thought about the possibility that it was _them_. She wondered what she would say to them the first time she came within shouting distance and how they would react to seeing her again. The questions came one after the other until her head spun. Even if it was the brothers, what explanation would she give him for the framed pictures of the dark blond haired girl that hung on her living room wall? Would she lie to him? _Could_ she lie to him? Would he even care? A dull ache centered itself in her gut and she considered a couple of shots of Vodka to aid her attempt to sleep but before she could get out of bed, she drifted head first into dreamland.

* * *

All Emma's thoughts of setting up her office flew out the window when she got up the next morning. As she sipped her black coffee, a plan formed in her head and she found herself smiling when she yanked on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Her excitement spread to her four year old furry shadow and Max wacked his tail hard against her leg as he waited impatiently for her to open the door to her SUV to allow him access. "Got a hot date in town today, bud?" she asked, chuckling at his enthusiasm.

Two hours later she hadn't gotten much accomplished in the getting-the-house-situated portion of her life, except for a new kitchen rug that she'd picked up at Walmart, but she did have a refreshing spring in her step. Max seemed worried as she drove past their usual parking spot and onto the grass surrounding the big blue house. His weight bounced on the front seat and he made a face at her that made her think of a pet psychic she'd met one time back in Ohio. The older woman with frizzy blond hair had informed Emma that Max often thought his owner made poor choices; that new information made Emma snort and mutter, "He's smarter than I thought".

At a little hunting store halfway into town, she'd run into an older couple—Clark and Goldie Hudson—who lived a couple of miles down the road from her own house. After she'd stupidly told them about her relocating back to her childhood home, they let out a simultaneous noise that immediately told her that they'd somehow remembered her as a girl.

"You were that cheerleader… the one who took your team to the State Championship, weren't you?" Goldie said, as her drawn-on eyebrows rose to her hairline.

Emma shrugged and nodded her head even though they were rehashing memories of someone else. She'd never even thought about being a cheerleader. As a teenager, she'd been way too curvy for that shit.

"Well, this is it," she told Max and he hopped up, eager to get out of the vehicle. Before she opened the door, she surveyed the bit of land and sighed, "It's perfect."

The dog bounded out of the car, nearly knocking her feet out from under her, and she popped open the back of her car. Grunting she pulled each bale of straw out, pulling tidbits of memories out of her brain so she could set it up exactly how he'd had it so many years ago. She cleared her throat and coughed, a breath whooshing out of her lungs at the mere acceptance of what she was doing. This was going to dig up a shit load of baggage that she didn't really want to face. This particular baggage would hurt and pull at her emotions until her heart was just an exhausted broken muscle in her chest.

Her mother would have a hay day with this new development.

The wide, flat space of land on the back of her property, which they were parked on, had been used for this very thing almost twenty years ago. Memories invaded her vision—warm breath in her ear, strong hands on her hips, tough words laced with sweet security. During those times, when she was just a girl and he was just a boy, they shared a strength that wasn't even realized between each other. She needed him and he needed her even though there was no way in hell that they would have admitted it at the time. But when she was shooting, there was no way, no how that she couldn't embrace the strength that he'd planted as a tiny little seed so long ago. Every time she wrapped her fingers around the Yew curve of her bow, she felt it and that buried vivacity had kept her going during times when she didn't think she could continue.

With a sharp exhale, her brown eyes landed on the double wide trailer that sat fifty yards away from where she was setting up her targets. The old pickup truck that typically sat outside was gone; the blinds were closed like usual but she was certain that no one was home. Before falling asleep the night before, she'd made a promise to herself to stay away from those men, whoever they might be. Emma didn't need any extra drama and that's all those two would add to her life. But it was still hard not to imagine what it would be like to see him again, to hear his voice and watch his lips curve into a smile because of something she said.

Internally, she shook herself and continued setting up her makeshift targets. When she was satisfied with them, she grabbed her bow case out of the truck and opened it, smiling at the gorgeous wooden piece that she hadn't used in quite a number of years.

"I wonder if I'll even be able to pull it back to the anchor," she said to herself as she ran her fingers lightly over the cold, aluminum shaft.

Emma had been good. _Very good._ In fact, Archery earned her a scholarship for her last two years of college but she gave it up shortly after she graduated. There had been times in the past ten years that she'd picked it up and thought about it, even pulled the string back just to prove to herself that she could still manage it but she'd hadn't shot an arrow at a target in over ten years.

Holding her breath, she set the arrow in the string and pulled back with three fingers, grinding her teeth as she felt the string bite into her skin. Her grip was shaky and the muscles in her shoulder screamed as she held the position long enough to release the air that she'd held in her lungs. The arrow landed in a pile of mud, missing the bale of straw by at least a foot. She laughed. Max cocked his head in wonderment before lying back down on the ground near her feet. This was going to take time and work to get back to where she was ten years ago.

Seven arrows later and she'd managed to impale the target twice. Her fingers were burning and every muscle in her upper body was protesting as she went to retrieve all her arrows, hits and misses. Just as she was getting the farthest one out, a voice called from behind her and she nearly screamed at the familiarity of it.

"Hey, sweetheart, I think ya need a lil' practice!" A high pitched laugh followed. If men could cackle, this would definitely be in the "cackle" category. "Hey, why don't ya let me teach ya a thing er two? I take many forms a payment!"

Thanks to shock, she was unable to process the actual meaning behind the words, and as Emma turned around, she took a deep breath in and let it out with a shaky whoosh. The man was far enough away that she couldn't make out the details of his face. The distance made it impossible to see how the past 19 years had treated the older man but it was obvious that not much had changed with his personality. He'd always been blunt and fairly unique in only the way that Merle could be. She didn't love him but she was far from hating him. He had done too much for his brother long ago for her to ever harbor resentment for the way that he'd treated her as a child. And he didn't treat her too horribly… just horrible enough to cause a rise out of her. It was what the man thrived on.

But Emma was sure that age had matured his reasoning. She was sure that time had dug some sort of humility or humbleness deep into the man's heart. Emma was almost positive that…

"Hey! You stupid or somethin'?" Emma's brows furrowed as he took a step closer, his face breaking into a huge grin. "Always did love the stupid ones. Makes it a lil' easier."

Okay. Maybe not.


	3. Chapter Two

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave me some feedback! I appreciate that! For this and future chapters, the writing in italics are past events; the present will be in normal font.**_

_**I don't know how impatient ya'll are to get to that whole apocalypse part of the story but it's going to be a few chapters. I'm writing chapter seven right now and it hasn't begun yet. But, don't get your panties in a bunch! There are lots of treats along the way, I promise. So, stick with me, people! Please...**_

_**This story will follow the the TV show but not in the way you think... you'll see. *winkwink* So, eventually, we'll meet up with the whole crew but we have to develop some characters first.**_

_**But most of all, enjoy yourself! And happy reading~**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing TWD. At all. No infringement intended.**_

* * *

**"There's a darkness upon me that flooded in light.**

**In the fine print, they tell me what's wrong and what's right.**

**And it comes in black and it comes in white,**

**and I'm frightened by those who don't see it."**

**~The Avett Brothers; "Head Full of Doubts/Road Full of Promises"**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_ Eight year old Emma was one of a kind. Her Daddy was losing hair by the day, thanks to her shenanigans and reluctance to follow rules. She wasn't a bad child; just independent and outspoken which got her into trouble more often than not. Her parents had taught her right from wrong; never judge a book by its cover. She took those values to heart and made sure that she made decisions based on those lessons. Like the time an older boy in school decided to trip her best and only friend, Lucy Johnson, on her way to a table in the cafeteria. Lucy went flying to the floor along with her red shiny apple and peanut butter and banana sandwich that her sweet Momma had packed her for lunch that day. Lucy cried. Emma was furious. She marched right over to the older boy, who was at least half a foot taller than her, and proceeded to kick him in the shins until he ran off to tell the teacher that Emma was being a bully. Her parents were called and her Momma gave her that tight-lipped smile that said, "You're gonna be grounded for a week, young lady". Her Daddy seemed rather passive but she thought she caught the hint of a smirk on his face and her little heart filled with pride even though she knew that kicking that mean boy in the shins wasn't the correct way to handle the situation. _

_ So, she was grounded. But that didn't keep her from running off into the woods to help "collect firewood" for the wood burning stove in their living room. She kicked her boots against the ground, picking up tiny sticks in an effort to at least appear to be doing the job she was sent out to do. Instead, she was looking for interesting bugs or even snakes that hadn't found cover for winter just yet. Or there was always a chance she'd run into Daryl._

_ "Hey! Kid! What'choo doin' out here?" The voice was familiar but it wasn't one that she conversed with on a regular basis. Usually, it was one that she'd heard yelled at her friend, Daryl, from a distance. The tone was always loud and had a mean streak to it a mile wide. She knew what the owner of the voice was like, regardless of how much time she'd spent getting to know him._

_ She twisted her body around, nearly falling on her rump in the process. "Huh?"_

_ "You deaf? I as'd ya what'choo were doin' out here in these woods?" The man was closer than she thought and her heart began to beat like a stampede of wild horses. Her innocent brown eyes took in his pushed out chest covered in a dirty green shirt; the bottoms of his matching cargo pants were pushed far into his boots and his balding head was covered in sweat, in spite of the cooler weather. She gulped and her body stiffened as he frowned at her, giving her his own once over with his dark, harsh eyes. He was alone and she'd been told to never find herself alone with him. She took a step back and clutched the sticks that she'd collected in her hand so tightly that she thought the roughness of them might break her skin. _

_ "My Momma told me to get some wood for our wood burner," she answered, ignoring the shakiness of her tone. _

_ The man grinned wickedly and Emma grimaced at the dark rot along his gum line. He was the bogey man that she'd had nightmares about and hoped didn't actually exist. Well, truth of the matter was that he did exist and he was inching toward her like her Daddy did to that mouse that had gotten into their kitchen just the week before. "Well, now, ya shouldn't be out 'ere in these woods all by ya lonesome. Bad things can happen to lil' girls when they don't stick close ta home, 'specially out here in the trees." He briefly looked around as if he were looking for someone in particular and then slowly took a few steps toward her. She backpeddled in the opposite direction, slowly and deliberately. "You know ma' boys?"_

_ Emma tried to put a little smile on her face; a friendly, human gesture but she had a feeling that it came out all wrong—sorta like when she ate that sour candy that her Daddy had given her for her birthday that year. "Daryl and Merle…" she squeaked and then added, "They're my friends."_

_ The bark of rough laughter made her jump and she took another step in reverse, her back pressed into the bark of a tree that she hadn't known was there. "They're your friends?" His voice was mocking, like he was making fun of her and she pressed her molars together. While she may have been scared out of her wits, she still had a quick temper that overrode her brains when it came to speaking._

_"You're a mean, old man and they are too my friends," she practically screeched. _

_ The speed it took for his grin to turn into a frown was alarming, even for an eight year old girl. Her back pushed roughly against the bark and her wide eyes barely registered the shotgun that he had grasped in his right hand. "Not too smart, are ya?" He took another step, covering only a small part of ground but enough to make her breath seize in her lungs. "What ya think your rich Mommy and Daddy would do if ya never made it back home, t'night, lil' girl? You think they'd worry 'bout ya? Or you think they'd just…" He made a face, shrugging at his own thought. "Forget that ya' even were livin'. They prob'ly be happy that ya were gone and outta their hair."_

_ She told herself that she needed to breathe because her lungs were screaming and her head was starting to ache but as he inched a little closer, she couldn't bring herself to exhale. Tears blurred her vision and she couldn't help but wonder about what he was asking—would her parents miss her if she were gone? She'd been a troublemaker and this man was going to hurt her because of it. Just like God punished those Egyptian people that Pastor Bob had talked about in Sunday school a few weeks ago. They'd made God mad and he made 'em pay for it. That's what was going on here and she'd do anything to run into her house and throw her arms around her parents, apologizing and telling them how much she loved them. _

_ He was only a few feet away when the sound of twigs snapping caused them both to turn their eyes to the woods beside them. Finally, Emma felt the breathe flow unsteadily out of her chest and her body sagged with sudden exhaustion. The twigs were still digging painfully into her palm but she paid no mind to the breaking of her skin as she clutched them. She was too busy watching the teenage boy approach them from the side, looking strangely at her with big blue eyes. _

_ "Wha' she doin' out here?" he asked, glancing at his father._

_ For a moment, Emma didn't think that the mean, old man had heard him but then he shifted his weight and inched away from her slightly. After one last scowl in her direction, he spat on the ground and turned his attention toward his older son, Merle. She jumped when the older man whacked the teenager on the back of the head with a loud whack. The boy made a face toward the ground but didn't show any pain, even though the hit was hard enough to seem like it would cause a bruise._

_ "The hell you doin' makin' all that noise, boy? Scarin' all the deer away, for fuck's sake," his father growled at him._

_ "Shot one down by th' lake," Merle answered. "Thought I'd come an' git ya so that you could help me carry it back ta the house."_

_ "Fuckin' Merle, the weak pussy can't carry his own fuckin' deer back to the house," he grumbled aloud to himself, moving farther away from Emma as he shifted his weight. "Go git the damn thing ya' self, boy." His cold glare caught hers once again and she shuddered. "Busy here, gettin' ta know our neighbor and…" He cut his eyes to Merle. "Says she's ya frien'"_

_ Merle hesitated but not for long before letting out a whoop of laughter. "That lil' shit ain't my frien', Pops. She's a straggler, always tryin' to follow me 'round like she ain't got nothin' better to do." Emma pursed her lips and furrowed her brows at the teenager. She certainly never followed him around. They'd been around each other only when he'd decided to follow his own little brother into the woods to meet her. Merle had never been friendly toward her but he'd never said mean things; in fact, most times he didn't even seem like he knew she was there. Most times, he was ridin' Daryl about something he should have done or asking him why he did some things certain ways. _

_Emma was seconds from opening her mouth to argue when the younger man shot her a meaningful glance with his blue eyes. It was only a second and she doubted that his father had caught it but she had; it said, "don't you dare open that big mouth a' yours". She snapped her jaw closed in response and for safety's sake, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth just in case she got the impulse to do any more disagreein'. _

"_Well, now, ain't that somethin'," his father mumbled, giving Emma a sly smile. "Ya know what we do ta fibbers 'round here, girl?" Slowly, he pulled a hunting knife out of a pocket attached to his leg and she let out a squeak. "Just a warnin', sweetheart."_

_Merle looked between his father and the little girl, his eyes bouncing from one to the other nervously. "Pops, you gonna help me with this deer or not? Daylights a' dwindlin'."_

_The older man grunted out a laugh at the terror clearly laced across the eight year old girl's face and shoved his knife back into the pocket on his leg. "Yeah, I help ya but I ain't gonna do any skinnin'." He finally looked away from her and cut his eyes to his son. "Maybe, we should let that little pussy of a brother 'a yours do the hard part."_

_They laughed together as they turned toward the deep woods as if Emma weren't even there and her life hadn't just been threatened. Tears drew a path down the dry skin of her cheeks and her breath sounded wheezy as it came quickly out of her lungs. Before the two men vanished from sight, Merle looked over his shoulder and narrowed his blue eyes at her; in a quick movement, he tipped his chin up once, gesturing toward her house—the universal sign for "Git!" _

_ Emma wasted no time gittin'._

* * *

"Wha's tha matta', sweetheart? Ain't never seen anyone as handsome as me, have ya?" His grin was wide and sneaky sprinkled with a hint of mischief.

"As a matter of fact, I have," she said, finally speaking to the large man encroaching on her property. He'd come from the trailer and she wondered how long he'd been there, watching her fail at target practice. Probably not long, considering he was just now popping his big old head out to harass her. "I've seen plenty of men much more handsome than you."

Max automatically stepped to her side, his eyes watching the threat closely. A rumble sounded from his chest and she put her palm on his furry head, commanding him to stay. "Nein…bleib, Max."

Ignoring the growling dog, Merle's eyebrows rose on his forehead and he let out a low whistle. "An insult from a Yank isn't somethin' I take lightly, girl. Best take it back."

Emma cocked an eyebrow, wondering if he knew who she was in the slightest. "Or what?"

The grin on his face darkened and his eyes went from playful to intimidating as he looked at her from head to toe. "Maybe I look all innocent, lady, but I can promise ya that I ain't."

She stretched her arm behind her, wincing as the muscles of her shoulder rolled. "I highly doubt that. I bet you're all fluffy marshmallows and bright rainbows; you know, all bark and no bite?"

The frown on his face would have been comical if he hadn't started walking toward her rather quickly. "Now, who the hell ya think ya are…"

Grabbing her bow, she quickly harnessed an arrow and pulled the string back, aiming for Merle's head. "Don't think I won't, Merle."

At this, he laughed out a howl. "Don't think I ain't seen ya aim, sweetheart! Couldn't hit a elephant at five feet, let alone a actual person!"

Emma smirked. "Just because I can't hit you between the eyes doesn't mean that my arrow won't find more—" Her gaze trailed down to his midsection, her smirk growing as her eyes found his crotch. "—sensitive places to land."

Max couldn't help himself and gave our visitor a view of his Canine teeth, followed by a threatening growl. "Hot damn, girl! Get that thing under control before I hafta kill it to shut it the hell up!"

"Back off about ten feet and I'll put him in the truck," Emma said calmly, her arrow still pulled to anchor. The burn in her shoulder was secondary to her safety which made her burst with self-pride on the inside; on the outside she remained stoic and determined.

He smirked and raised his hands in the air, trying to seem non-threatening as he took some steps backward. "Don't mean no harm, Darlin'." The expression on his face told Emma that he was half-fibbing but she slowly released the tension of the string, causing it to go slack.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" she asked, putting her hand on Max's head once again to calm him. The dog was strung tight, just like the string on her bow that she'd been pulling.

There was no answer, save for the smirk that remained on his mouth. Merle didn't scare her. Not that she didn't think that he'd hurt her but she had Max and the dog was born to protect her, raised with a manner of loyalty, duty and discipline. She often wondered how wrong it would be to have a crush on her dog because no man alive would be as faithful and trustworthy as he was.

"Fuss," she called to Max and started walking toward the car. He hesitated but trotted along to her left side, keeping one eye behind him on the seemingly dangerous stranger. Emma opened the door and patted the seat so that he'd hop in and he did; then she stuck her keys in the ignition so that she could roll down the window just in case. "Bleib."

"See? Ain't that nice?" Merle cooed as she walked back over to where she had been standing moments before. "Now, we can have a nice long chat."

"About?" she asked.

"How you know my name?" he asked, his eyes darkening and the smirk disappearing. "I fuck you a long time ago and now ya can't get me outta ya head?"

Emma couldn't help it. She snorted and rolled her eyes. "No man's dick is worth buying a house and hauling my shit hundreds of miles just to be closer to it."

Merle barked out a laugh. "Now I know we ain't fucked since ya got that attitude."

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "So, you really don't remember me?"

With a grunt, he squinted his eyes at her and pursed his lips tightly—his thinking face. This time she didn't try to hide the small grin that swept over her lips. She never imagined that she'd ever have another conversation with Merle Dixon. As vulgar as he was, this was going to make her day.

"Nah," he finally muttered. "All you bitches look alike ta me."

This time she laughed. "Good God, you haven't changed."

Annoyed, he crossed his arms over his chest, showing off the "Semper Fi" tattoo across his forearm. "You gonna tell me or what?"

She fiddled with the feathered fletching on one of her arrows as she avoided his eyes. "I used to live here, as a young girl. We moved away—"

Merle interrupted. "Well, fuck me! You're that lil' bitch that used to follow my lil' brother 'round all the damn time." Emma couldn't read his expression but to the naked eye it would appear that he was damn agitated. "The hell you doin' back here for?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you," she said, calmly. "You asked who I was so I told you."

He growled a little and shuffled on his feet as he put his thinking face back on. Finally, he sighed, "Well, you better not make no trouble. Finally got that boy to a point where he's thinkin' like a man; I don't need you showin' up and fuckin' that up, girl. Get him thinkin' that he's somebody 'portant."

She clenched her jaw and nearly told him that he sounded like his damn father but she thought better of it. Emma was certain that any mention of the old man would cause unnecessary violence and she did not feel like dealing with a bite wound at the moment. With a furtive glance, she noted that Max was sitting in the driver's seat watching Merle like a hawk, waiting for him to make one wrong move so that he jump out that damn window and sink his teeth into any part of the man. When she looked back, Merle was giving her a strange look.

* * *

Daryl Dixon was a man who loved his brother. They was kin. They'd damn well do anythin' for each other and they'd done proved it time after time. There was nights when Merle would call from town, drunk as a fuckin' skunk, and Daryl would sigh and go pick him up 'fore he wrapped his damn motorcycle around a tree. When they were younger, Merle's age gap made it easy for him to pick on Daryl and he did; but it made the younger Dixon tough. It made him in to a man. If Daryl had a dime for every beating that the older boy had given him, he'd have a house and not a fuckin' trailer with tiny leaks in its roof. Fuckin' everything got wet when it rained.

As much love as the two men had for each other, there was also a modicum of disgust when they looked upon each other. According to Merle, Daryl would never possess the manliness necessary to be a "real Dixon". There was sensitivity in Daryl's personality that he must've gotten from their Momma because it wasn't a typical Dixon trait. It also came out in droves in the worst of times. For instance, one time he took a beating from their Daddy to protect a little girl from getting caught doing something that would have probably resulted in her death or at the least, a serious beating of her own. Daryl saw most things with apathy but there were certain things and people that he empathized with. Merle considered this a personality "defect" and figured that there was no rhyme or reason to it except to piss his big brother off. So he dubbed him a pussy. And half female, on occasion. And he still fucking beat the shit out of 'em whenever he got a chance. No kin of his was gonna act like a chicken shit if he had anything to say about it.

The disgust that Daryl had for his brother was ironically the opposite. More often than not, he thought his brother was an asshole. It didn't matter who they was dealing with or what the situation, you'd often see Daryl in the background, frowning out a wince because he knew the type of things that his older brother would say in the most awkward situations. The scary thing to Daryl, was that he'd found himself sayin' the exact same things just because he'd grown up with 'em. At one point, he had a "fuck off" on the very tip of his tongue when asked to donate to some child's cancer organization. Instead, he shook his head and growled because that shit was all Merle's doing.

Merle's drug use was another thing that kept Daryl's internal monologue bitching in his head. Merle had started petty drug abuse before his younger brother could remember and if it wasn't so intermittent, the older man would probably be dead at this point. But, after several arrests as a teenager, he was given a choice: Go to jail and get tried as an adult, or quit the shit and join a branch of the military. Merle chose The Marines. And he came back tougher, smarter and a hell of a lot meaner. His petty drug use turned into dealing and hard shit, like Cocaine and Meth. It was just something else that Daryl had to worry about. His brother wasn't stupid enough to O.D. in the back room of his trailer but Daryl wouldn't put it past him to provide the shit to cause someone else to O.D. Daryl hadn't done a drug in his life and apparently, that was one more thing to add to the list that made him a fucking pussy.

At the moment, Daryl was stuck in one of those embarrassing moments where he was painfully wincing in the background, tryin' hard not to yell at his brother for being the stupid fuck that he was. He'd told him, time and time again, to leave the new neighbor lady alone because it would only get them into trouble. They'd spotted her a few times, wandering around her backyard like she was fuckin' lost or sittin' out on her upstairs patio like she had no cares in the world.

"Must be fuckin' nice," Merle said one day as they watched her take a long pull from a cigarette. Her feet were propped up on the railing of the patio, her legs crossed at the ankles. She gave off a rich-ass vibe that he didn't want to mess with because fancy ass women like her knew fancy ass men who'd probably gone to fucking law school. One bogus screech from her and they'd both be serving life in prison for just lookin' at the bitch wrong. "Wish I could jus' sit up there all damn day lookin' pretty."

Daryl grunted in response. No fuckin' way he was eggin' this conversation on.

Merle's jealous scowl turned into a grin. "Twenty bucks says she's got a sugar daddy who visits her on the weekends. Probably some eighty year old fuck who can't get it up no more."

"You ain't even got twenty bucks," Daryl shot back, as he turned the hose on the back of his pickup truck. The water turned pink as the deer blood slowly gave in under the pressure of the hose.

Merle frowned. "Bet that bitch hasn't worked a day in her life."

Daryl grunted again, wishing that his brother would shut the fuck up. "Shut the fuck up and get that deer hung before it gets dark out."

That had been a week ago, just a few days after the bitch had just moved in. Merle had become a little obsessed with her after that, especially when he found out that Daryl hated it when he talked about her. The subject of their lazy, pretty neighbor made Daryl's face turn red and caused his molars to press together so tightly that Merle was sure to hear them crack. This amused Merle. And there wasn't much entertainment in Merle's life so when they got back home from pickin' up a haul of old metal they'd found alongside the road, they both stared in shock at the form of their lazy, rich neighbor tryin' her damndest to pull back the string of a Recurve in her back yard. Merle grinned that wicked fuckin' grin as he watched her struggle with the string; she pulled it back to anchor and released her fingertips. Both of the Dixons watched the arrow plunge itself hard into a nearby tree; the soft sound of cursing coming from the woman was mumbled and whiney. The woman rolled her shoulder and winced, as she put a palm on the head of that big ass dog that followed her around. Yeah, the Dixon boys had noticed that dog with its mistrustful eyes and big sharp teeth. Another reason for Merle to leave—"

"Imma go say hi," Merle mumbled, still smiling widely at the pathetic sight of the woman.

"Fuckin' no, Merle." Daryl moved around the side of his truck and stood in front of his big brother. They were nearly the same height—Merle was a few inches taller but it didn't make a difference during a face to face discussion. "Tha' woman'll call the cops the first sight she gets of ya and if she don't, that fuckin' dog 'a hers will take your hand off."

Merle appeared to consider it. "If that mutt bites me, then that gives me just cause to fuckin' sue her ass, don't it."

Daryl growled and made the mistake of giving his brother a shove on the shoulder. Merle's smile disappeared, immediately replaced by a sneer. Even though there was only a few inches difference in their heights, Merle seemed to get feet taller in just those moments.

"Push me again, ya little pussy and I'll beat your ass until that bitch over there has to call the cops so that they can pull me offa ya," Merle growled.

Daryl may have only been the winner of one fight between the two men during a lifetime of punches but that didn't mean that he wasn't a good match for the older man. Daryl sneered back and stood his ground causing Merle to ball his hands up into fists.

"Fine," Daryl spat, "but if your ass ends up in jail tonight, I ain't comin' to get ya!"

Merle walked past him. "Sure ya will, baby brother. Ya always do."

Daryl growled and picked up part of an old rusty bedframe, cursing as he pulled it out of the back of his truck. It was heavier than it looked and clattered to the ground as soon as the weight left the truck bed.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered, squinting in the direction of his brother's retreating form. He heard Merle say something to the girl and he waited for the angry screams to begin. No woman appreciated Merle's nicknames, especially not lazy, rich bitches with sugar daddies and big 'ol fuckin' dogs. Daryl tried not to stare and he wanted so bad to just haul his ass into their trailer and never look back but the tension in the air was thicker than shit. And it was comin' from the direction of that woman and his brother.

As he hauled the metal off the ground and over to the metal pile that they'd take in at the end of the week for some extra cash, he squinted over at the two people. His breath hitched as the woman aimed a fucking arrow at Merle; his brother's fists were tight and his back straight, ready to strike like a fucking cobra. No way in hell was this gonna end well.

But before he knew it, Merle was retreating slowly and the arrow was pointed back at the ground. Daryl released a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. They didn't need no fuckin' trouble and that's all that bitch was. After all the shit that his rotten brother had done, it was going to be this woman who was going to finally send him to prison. Daryl wasn't sure how he felt about that. It would definitely make his life easier since he wouldn't have to babysit Merle or take his shit on a daily basis anymore but he was all he had. If Merle went away, he'd have nobody and he couldn't imagine that. His brother was family and like hell, he'd let some fancy ass bitch take that away from him.

Just as he opened his mouth to yell for Merle, something surprising happened: The woman walked to her SUV and put the dog inside, leaving the window rolled down so that the dog could come to her aid if need be. She was either really fucking stupid or very confident in that animal's speed because Merle wasn't someone to let your guard down around. He'd slit her throat and still have time to take the dog down if he really wanted to.

Merle held his ground and Daryl grit his teeth as the two chatted like they were old friends. The woman even smiled and he fought back the urge to recognize how beautiful she was because anyone could be beautiful if given the right resources.

Five minutes later, Merle was walking back toward him, his jaw stressed from the pressure of his teeth grinding together. Daryl looked at him expectantly, barely realizing that the woman was pulling her big ass vehicle back around her house and to her driveway. Merle sneered and slammed the tailgate closed on Daryl's old rusty Chevy.

"Fuck, man, take it easy! This trucks gotta last me!" Daryl growled but what he really wanted to do was ask his brother what the fuck happened next door. "The hells got you so fuckin' pissed?"

Merle glared at his brother. "Stay away from that bitch."

That was all he said before shuffling into the house and slamming yet another door closed as he walked into the trailer. Daryl just stared at his brother in confusion with his hands on his hips. He hadn't seen his brother so rattled since before their Daddy died.

* * *

_**A/N: So, we got a rare peek into Daryl's brain. What did you think?**_


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's giving this little story a shot! I appreciate it! Once again, the past is in italics. :)**

**All I can say is what you think is going to happen in the future, probably isn't going to happen. I'm gonna keep you guessin'... I hope. I do love Daryl but for some strange, unexplainable reason, I love Merle too. So, happy reading, folks!**

**Disclaimer: I own nada from TWD so no infringement intended. **

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Merle had confronted her in her backyard and she hadn't heard a word from either of them since… and it was killing her. Why was it killing her? Emma wasn't sure but the fact was that she'd spotted the brothers a few times in the past couple of weeks and neither of them spared her even a glance. What had Merle told his brother? Was Daryl aware of who she was? And if he was, why in the hell hadn't he approached her even if it was to use a few choice curse words in an effort to push her away. Unless, he just didn't give a fuck… Which was a definite possibility.

"Did you hear me?" The young voice on the other end of line caused Emma to shake herself and she shifted her weight on the stool that was perched under the island of her kitchen. "Hellooooo…"

"I hear you," Emma replied. "I just refuse to respond. There is no answer to that question that will keep you from digging even deeper and any further digging is outlawed."

The girl giggled which made Emma grin wide. That giggle… "Outlawed? By who?"

"Remember a long time ago when I said that whatever I say is law?" Emma could practically hear the rolling of eyes on the other end of the line.

"I was sixteen and I barely recall that whole conversation."

Emma narrowed an eye. "Well, I can recite it word for word, you know. I have it memorized and stuffed neatly in the 'Mom's useful speeches' folder in the back of my brain." A long, dramatic sigh was released which made Emma smile even wider. "In fact, I haven't used that folder in a while so—"

"Mom…"

"Charlotte…"

"All I want is for you to be happy and if finding a good man makes you happy… well, then I want to know about it."

The apple didn't fall far from the tree in Charlotte and Emma's case which concluded that karma was a bitch because now Emma knew exactly what she had put her own parents through as a girl. However, it was also where each woman had gotten their independence and free thinking attitude from. They may be impulsive by nature but they learned early from their mistakes, even if that meant premature graying for parental figures. In Emma and Charlotte's case, Emma was the parent so it wasn't so fun when she caught her sixteen year old daughter sneaking out of her bedroom window so that she could attend the "party of a lifetime". Thankfully, the world provided the older woman with many selections of hair dye and a strong stomach to fight off the ulcers.

Emma had been a young mother and she hadn't been the best one at that. She'd had a dream to go to school and even though her mother had pleaded with her to put her baby up for adoption, she couldn't do it. Thankfully, Charlotte was an easy baby with giggles that could melt the heart so it wasn't long after her birth that Emma's mom, Glenda, had thanked her for making the right choice. It was a tough struggle until Emma was able to graduate college with a Journalism degree, since Glenda was playing mother to little Charlotte. Emma felt more like an older sister than a mother to the little girl but that changed as soon as she graduated from The University of Chicago. Charlotte was four and Emma finally felt like she could be the mother that she deserved.

Eighteen years later and Charlotte was embarking on her own adventure at the University of Georgia in Athens. Since Charlotte was moving to Georgia and Emma was terrified to be so far away from the girl, she'd decided to pick up and move along with her, much to Charlotte's chagrin. Then the whole buying her childhood home thing happened and the rest was history. Although, Emma promised not to stalk her at the dorms or show up with baked goods unannounced, Charlotte was anxious to be on her own for the first time in her life. Emma knew that feeling so she kept her phone calls to twice a week. Sometimes three. At the most, four.

"First of all, Char, a good man is not to be found in Milledgeville, Georgia and second, a good man is not the key to happiness," Emma replied.

"You sound like Judge Judy," Charlotte said with a smile to her voice. "Are you back to watching Soap Operas again because you already went through that twelve step program and everything."

"Ha ha," Emma deadpanned. "I called to talk about you. How's school?"

Char sighed. "It's okay. Different. People make fun of my accent even though I'm the only one without an accent around here."

The older woman let out a laugh. "Pretty soon, you'll have an accent just like they do. It's contagious. Like a virus."

"I like it, though," Charlotte replied and then proceeded to add a twang to her words. "I can meet a nice boy and settle down so that I can pop out ten kids, all of 'em boys of course. We can run the family farm, milk cows for a livin' and kill my own chickens for dinner."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Come on now, not everybody in Georgia hails from a farm."

"I swear to you, Mom, that every single person I've met from Georgia has lived on a farm at one point in their lives. I feel out of place because I've never touched a cow's nipples before."

"It's called an udder," Emma retorted.

"Whatever," Charlotte grunted.

"Come on, Char, you're the one who wanted to come to UGA. You have to stick with it and by the beginning of next year, you'll love it. I know you and you've never given up on a single thing in your life. Relentless is what you are, girl, and you're strong enough to overcome anything." Emma took a deep breath and tried her best to sound motherly, even though their current relationship was more like sisters. "Even with your lacking knowledge of cow parts."

That earned Emma another giggle. "You're right. Maybe, I should take an agriculture class so I have something to talk about on my next date."

Emma cleared her throat. "Speaking of dates…"

Another inaudible eye roll. "Yes, mom, I'm being careful."

"Just checking," Emma mumbled. "You don't want to end up—"

Her daughter interrupted. "I know, not like you." Emma closed her eyes and exhaled through pursed lips. "But for the record, I think you turned out to be a pretty cool mom."

Emma's shoulders relaxed. "Yeah, I got lucky with a perfect little girl. With your luck, you'd get a hellion little boy who'd make you want to tear out your hair with two pairs of tweezers."

"I have great luck!"

Emma replied with a laugh and a short silence followed which meant that it was time to say goodbye for another couple of days. She pouted and her heart ached; the loss of her daughter in her everyday life was critical. They'd had their moments, just like every other mother/daughter relationship but they were also extremely close. Since Emma was a young mother, she felt like she could relate to her daughter's problems as a teenager much better than other moms. She'd listen instead of trying to lecture; she'd understand instead of judge. They had formed a bond that made the separation physically painful for both of them.

"Well, I should do my homework…" Charlotte trailed off.

"Yeah, I got my own homework to do." Emma glanced at the computer screen, a wince forming on her face as she took in the empty e-mail field. She'd been trying to write something to update her manager on her progress but the words just weren't flowing and she dreaded further effort to conjure something up. Probably because she didn't have any progress to report and that wouldn't make her manager, Ted, happy at all.

"I love you, Mom. I miss you."

As many times as the two had talked over the past month, this part always made Emma emotional. She wanted to be able to wrap her arms around her girl and give her a nightly kiss on the forehead. Eighteen or not, she was still her daughter and that would never change. Watching her grow up and slip further out of her reach had been difficult but very satisfying as well. Charlotte was beautiful, down to earth and tragically creative, and Emma couldn't help but puff out her chest a little at how well she'd turned out considering the circumstances they'd started out in.

"I love you too, Baby." Emma held back a sniff because it was always embarrassing when she was called out on her crying. "Study hard, college parties suck and boys are nothing but trouble."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

* * *

The pudgy weatherman on channel 12 was predicting that the fifteenth of November was going to be the last nice day of the Fall. Emma hadn't put much stock into what past meteorologist had said in regards to the activities of her life but she wasn't going to let the day go to waste… in case he was right.

So, she woke up early that day and pulled on a pair of jeans and sweatshirt and after practically inhaling a banana and an entire bottle of water, she packed some necessities in her back pack. With a skip in her step, she pushed her feet into her hiking boots and walked out the door, taking a deep breath of the southern fall air that she'd missed all those years in Chicago. Some people may not be able to tell a difference but she could; even though she'd lost her accent after the many years of living up north, she would always claim Georgia as her home state.

Max followed her loyally, of course, which made her grin and run her palm along the course hair of his back. Just in case, Emma wrapped his leather leash around her body so she would have it if he saw a deer or rabbit that he wanted to chase. Not that Emma needed Max to help her find her way in the woods; she was familiar with the layout but the dog provided her a sense of security. There were times when she was without him that she'd had panic attacks because a creeping familiar feeling of dread would wash over her. She'd see eyes that reminded her of a traumatic time in her life or a seemingly wicked smile that pushed unwanted memories into her head. That dirty, protective dog seemed to keep all those panic-inducing memories at bay for some reason. Emma didn't question it; she just made sure to keep Max close unless she absolutely couldn't and then she just had to deal with it.

They walked quickly toward the tree line, both of them excited to get some much needed exercise in before the chill of winter bit into the air. Because she just couldn't seem to help it, Emma's eyes glanced toward the old trailer that the Dixon brothers cohabited and it was quiet. The rusty, old Chevy was parked in its usual spot but the place appeared empty.

Emma shrugged at her companion and said, "Must not be home."

Max didn't seem to give a shit because he didn't react to her words. His big brown eyes were alert and his ears pricked toward the sky like some sort of soldier on a mission.

They walked past the tree line, the sound of birds and insects echoed around them like a chorus. Emma smiled at the tree house that her father had built her when she was tiny. The ladder had mostly fallen apart but the actual structure of the small building appeared stable. For a moment, she stopped and remembered a distinct memory of being eleven and catching Merle "borrowing" her tree house for vindictive purposes—getting in Mary Louise Presley's pants. At the time, it was a scandal for the brown eyes of an eleven year old girl but now, when she remembers the way the older girl looked at Merle Dixon with passion and desire, it made her snort. Why in God's name would any woman trust that man; even as a kid, he didn't hide his rancid personality traits or fucked up quirks. Merle was bluntly crude and he'd never change.

For two hours, the dog and Emma explored the forest. When the hills started getting steeper, she decided that they should turn back and head toward home. Just as she stopped to turn on her heel and call for Max, a snapping of a twig brought her eyes up to the expanse of the forest. Her dog's body snapped taut and a low growl rumbled in his chest. Quickly, she uncoiled his leash from over her shoulder and snapped it on his collar. Most of the bears that wandered around this part of the country should have been already laid down for their long winter nap but every once in a while, there would be a few stragglers who were just a little slow on the uptake. Max was a tough son of a bitch but he couldn't hold his own against a black bear. Emma wished that she had brought along her bow or at least dug out her Daddy's old hunting knife that hadn't been used in decades.

She tugged on Max and hissed a command to follow her under her breath and he hesitated but obliged. Another twig snapped behind her and she paused, looking over her shoulder for any kind of movement. The threatening growl coming from her dog grew slightly louder and he jerked on the leash, instinctively trying to protect Emma. With a small effort, she got Max back on track and continued back the way they came until a strong feeling came over her. It was the type of chill that travels up your spine and onto your scalp, settling there like an angry squatter. Emma was being watched.

With a curse, she looked over her shoulder and saw the shape of a man approaching her from behind. His steps were fluid and graceful; his legs long and lean. The thin coat that he wore was old and dirty and the smudge of dirt across his forehead was enough to magnify that chill that was making itself at home on Emma's scalp. But then she saw the mop of dirty blonde hair and those narrowed eyes as they watched his feet as if any minute, they'd start doing some sort of circus act.

"Holy…" she whispered to herself. It was different seeing Daryl up close—almost five feet away from her—than getting a glimpse at a distance. Every muscle in her body seemed to tighten at the same time and any words that she'd had brewing in her voice box got stuck in her throat like a jagged rock.

Emma knew that he had to know she was there, standing there with her dog and staring at him like her mental faculties weren't up to par. He'd probably even snapped those twigs on purpose to keep from frightening the poor mentally unstable woman who was taking an afternoon stroll in the woods. But as he came closer, he didn't say a word and he didn't look up at her; instead, he just kept right on walking, putting a good distance between himself and the growling Max at her side. It wasn't until he had passed her, like she wasn't even there, that Emma dug deep inside and found her voice.

"Daryl…" she squeaked, rolling her eyes at how terrified his name had come out. "What are you…"

His footsteps halted immediately at the sound of his name and then he hesitated, his profile barely visible over the hunch of his shoulder. Then, with a sigh, he turned around and for the first time in nearly twenty years, their eyes met. There was question there and maybe a little animosity but then, as his blue eyes danced around her face, recognition set in. The tip of his tongue darted out of his mouth and he swept it quickly over his upper lip. Emma couldn't help but be fascinated with every movement, every facial expression that maneuvered over his face.

"The hell you doin' here?" His voice was gruff and just as southern as she remembered it. By the way he spoke, she knew…she finally knew that he recognized her and an unexplainable jolt of excitement shot through her. Max sensed her familiarity to the man and transferred himself from protectively grumpy to curious.

"Uh…I moved into my old house," Emma said dumbly.

Daryl shifted on his feet and rolled his eyes. "I kinda figured that shit out. I ain't fuckin' stupid."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "I thought Merle would have told you." He grunted and Emma put a hand on her hip. "Well, it's good to see you too."

Daryl squinted at her, annoyed with her tone and opened his mouth to say something but stopped short. Instead, he shook his head and started his journey back home with a muttered, "Whatever."

"Wait," Emma huffed as she hurried to catch up to him. The man had always been a fast walker and very rarely did he take into consideration that she had shorter legs than him. In the old days, he tried to remember but now, he was using those long legs of his as an advantage in an effort to escape. "Jesus, Daryl! Just wait a minute!"

It could have been her imagination but she swore that he slowed down just a fraction. Or maybe she sped up, she wasn't sure; whatever the case, she finally caught up with him. Max wagged his tail as he looked up at Daryl's back, obviously confused as to why the new man hadn't acknowledged his presence yet. Not even a glance. Max always got at least one petrified glance from new people.

"What'cha want?" he asked, not looking back.

"Well, I just wanted to talk," Emma stated.

"'Bout what?"

"I don't know… uh, what have you been up to?" She smiled a little, thinking about how annoying she was in that moment. Daryl never was much of a talker. He was a doer and occasionally, he'd comment while he was doing which was part of the reason why they'd always got along. Emma's impulsivity plus Daryl's motivation and they were a pretty badass team as kids.

Daryl's response was to put one foot in front of the other at a faster pace.

"Oh, come on, you can't even tell me what you've been up to the past twenty years?" Emma asked.

He turned on her quickly, finally giving Max the cautious look that the dog had been waiting for. There was anger in his words, laced with annoyance and contempt. "What'cha think I been up to, woman? Ya think I got time ta sit around all day an' do nothin' like you do while the rest of the world works their ass off? Ya think I got some rich motherfucker takin' care a me while I play house out in the sticks?" He shook his head and sneered at her. "Some people have ta fuckin' go ta work ta pay their bills."

Emma's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "I assume that you're talking about me…well, who you think I am." Daryl looked down at Max who was on high alert, sensing the tension between his master and the stranger. "You don't know me, Daryl so don't sit there, on your redneck high horse and judge me."

"Damn straight, I don't know you," he grumbled at his feet. "Fuckin' fine by me."

Then Daryl walked away, leaving an open mouthed Emma staring at his back.

* * *

"_Like this?" Emma held the recurve bow in her hands and wrapped her fingers around the wood and squeezed like her life depended on it._

_Fifteen year old Daryl sighed and let out a frustrated grunt. "Damn, girl, you're gonna break your fuckin' fingers if ya squeeze it that tight." He put his hand over hers and started prying her smaller fingers off the instrument. "Fuckin' relax, would ya? Ya can't hit shit if yer all uptight like that."_

"_How am I supposed to pull back the thingie if I can't hold onto that part, huh?"_

"_Give it," Daryl barked and grabbed the bow out of her hands before she had the opportunity to follow his order. "I'll show ya how it's done."_

_Daryl went through each step… again, giving explicit instructions each time; his deep southern accent making words like "string" sound like "strang". Emma watched him carefully, determined not to give him the opportunity to be disappointed in her yet again. _

_The two had been best friends since they were tiny and he was the only person that Emma felt comfortable with telling her darkest secrets. Like how she stole Mr. Garmin's fancy gold pen right off his desk when he wasn't looking or when she caught Jenny Parsons gettin' felt up by Paul Johnson in the girl's restroom. Daryl didn't have much of a response but when he did, they were always words that made Emma feel better about whatever predicament she got herself into. _

"_There. Now, you do it." He pushed the bow back at her and she took it from him with determination written all over her young, pretty face. Emma had matured early for her age and during her entire freshman year of high school, she'd gotten teased relentlessly for it. But now, she was a sophomore and boys were startin' to notice her for more than just her pretty brown eyes or long, dark hair. She went from being just plain unpopular to the town slut in the eyes of all her female classmates, just because she got unwanted attention. And it was definitely unwanted. _

"_You're a horrible teacher," Emma stated before setting the arrow on the string and using her fingertips to pull back the string. _

"_Just do it, a'right? I ain't got all day." _

_Emma smiled and squinted at the target that they'd set up on a nearby Oak. She released the string and the arrow hit the tree but missed the target by at least two feet. She squealed and hopped up and down a few times in excitement._

"_What'cha so happy for? Ya didn't even hit the target?" Daryl complained but the hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Do it again. This time, hit the fuckin' bullseye."_

"_Oh shut up," she said, grabbing an arrow out of his hand. "You're just jealous that I'm a natural at this stuff."_

_He snorted and ran a hand through his shaggy, blond hair._

_After seven more attempts at hitting the target, Emma sputtered out a frustrated sigh through pursed lips. "Can I borrow this thing?" She asked, holding up the recurve._

"_Uh…" Daryl shifted on his feet and avoided her eyes. "It's ma Daddy's."_

_She raised her eyebrows. "He know you have it?"_

"_Hell no," he replied. "He's been gone for four days. Who knows when he'll be back but…" He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his dirty jeans. Daryl's father went on little unannounced vacations since The Dixon boys' momma had died. Sometimes he was gone for three days and sometimes it was over a month. You never knew when the old man would be back but you could count on a beating the second he walked into the door. It was like he'd went to war or somethin', got all pissed off and then came home to take it out on the first living thing he came across. And since Merle had involuntarily joined The Marines and been gone for the past three years, Daryl was always the lucky one. "You can practice whenever ya want."_

_Emma smiled. When Emma smiled, it made Daryl feel like he'd just hung the moon. He'd do just about anything to make her smile like that. The boy didn't know how to make sense of that feeling so usually, he just pushed it deep down inside of him and ignored it._

_They started packing up the bow and pulling the arrows out of the tree. Emma could never stand Daryl's beloved silence so she decided to fill it with nonsense._

"_You should come back to school, Daryl," she said, yanking an arrowhead that was embedded well into the bark of the Oak. _

_Daryl let out his customary grunt. _

"_I mean, we'd have fun together and it'd be nice to have someone to hang out with." Emma peeked up at him but he didn't seem to be paying attention. "I'd feel better if you were there."_

_He stopped moving and looked down at her. "What's that s'pposed ta mean?'_

_Emma's tanned cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. "Nothin'."_

_The pale blue of Daryl's irises nearly vanished as he squinted at her. "What's goin' on?" Emma swallowed and shook her head. "Why is it that you'd feel better if I was there?"_

_She plopped her butt down on the ground and sighed. "Just…usual stuff."_

"_What usual stuff," he said impatiently because Daryl Dixon had zero patience for tittering around the facts. "Why is it that ya ramble on and on when I want ya to shut up but when I ask ya somethin', ya sit there starin' at me like I got two heads?"_

_Emma bit her lip. "These people have been…they've been…"_

"_What?" he asked, his patience hanging from a thread._

_She picked up a small rock and lobbed it at him. It hit him on the forehead, right between the eyes. "This is hard, okay? Stop being such a jackass!"_

_His fingers absently rubbed at the spot where the rock had hit him. "Why's it so hard? Just fuckin' say it!"_

_The young girl pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, the position making her appear fragile and distressed. "It's just embarrassing, that's all."_

_Daryl was done with the begging for answers parade so he plopped down next to her and just waited for her to speak. It took a few minutes but when she finally did spew out the words, Daryl saw red._

"_These boys have been sorta pickin' on me," she said quietly. "Callin' me names and…and grabbin' at me." Emma chanced a peek at the young man sitting next to her and held her breath. "I thought that maybe if you came back that they'd—"_

"_Who's doin' it?" His voice was gruff; the anger volatile in his words. _

"_Daryl, I don't want—"_

"_Didn't ask what you want, Emma," he admonished. "I asked who's botherin' ya."_

_She sighed. "Shawn Combs, Brad Garrett, and a few others that hang around with them but mostly it's Shawn and Brad." His jaw clenched and his hands formed fists in the grass behind him. "Usually, it's harmless stuff that I can ignore like making disgusting noises at me as I pass 'em in the hallway or asking me my bra size…stuff like that. But today…"_

"_Today what?" _

_Emma's face fanned with embarrassment as she thought back to her eighth period PE class. Unfortunately, she shared that class with a gaggle of girls that hated her and Brad Garrett so her guard should have been up like a force field but it wasn't. Tears filled her eyes as the sound of teenage cackles echoed in her ears along with the taunting deep voice of her disgusting classmate. "Brad walked in on me when I was changing in the locker room for gym class. The girls had let him in and…and he wouldn't leave." She brushed a tear off her cheek, hoping that she caught it in time so that he didn't even realize it had been there. Daryl got awkward around tears—she'd learned that back when she'd cried over a skinned knee as a clumsy eight year old. "I was half dressed and I was tryin' to cover up with a t-shirt but he kept trying to pull it off me. I was scared that he'd…"_

_Daryl grunted but this wasn't his typical don't-give-a-shit grunt. This grunt had some fucking meaning behind it. In fact, it would be better described as a growl._

_Emma shook her head, trying to extinguish the rancid memory along with a deep sigh. "Never mind. I just thought that if you were back in school, that you could keep them from—"_

_Suddenly, Daryl rose to his feet, grabbing his father's bow in one hand and the arrows with the other. Emma watched him, her mouth hung open in mid-sentence as he shifted from foot to foot awkwardly in front of her._

"_I gotta go," he mumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off toward his family's cabin. _

_Emma shut her eyes and shook her head. "G'night, then!"_

_Later that night, Brad Garret showed up in the ER at Oconee Medical Center on an ambulance gurney. He'd been severely beaten by an unknown assailant after he'd left his Junior Varsity football practice. Brad suffered a broken jaw, seventeen stitches in his head and a fractured wrist._

_And he never bothered Emma ever again._


	5. Chapter Four

_**A/N: Sorry it took me so long! Next chapter will be quicker...I promise. Welcome if you're a new reader! Welcome if you're not! ;) **_

_**Brazen Hussy: Thank you for all the support! I appreciate it! I look forward to your reviews after each chapter :) **_

_**Lilone1776: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like it :) Merle is one of my favorite characters on TWD and I LOVE where they are going with the Dixon storyline on the show right now - how they are letting us in on little pieces of their past. *sigh* You'll get a little tidbit of a Dixon/Emma secret in this chapter :)**_

_**BlackRose851: Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you like it :)**_

_**SoftRagoo: You know I love you! Thanks for checking me out 3**_

_**So, all my shoutouts are done. I really do adore the reviews. They put a smile on my face each time I get one and I appreciate that ya'll take the time to do it. Super cool of you!**_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Thanksgiving was typically a joyous time for Emma and her family. She loved tradition and the holiday was doused in it. Her mom and stepdad would come over, along with her step brother, Mike and whatever girl had caught his fancy that month. The past couple years, Charlotte had earned herself a place in the kitchen alongside her mother and grandmother, making turkey and homemade everything to go with it. Emma could see the concentration on her daughter's face as Glenda explained how to prepare things without needing a written recipe in front of her because "written recipes are for those with no talent", she would explain. Charlotte was determined to have talent in the kitchen, even though God graced her with the gift to burn toast at every opportunity.

After dinner, they'd play a board game like Monopoly or Life or sometimes even Poker. Each person would have a glass of red wine in their hand and a smile on their lips as they rolled dice onto a board or announced that they'd went bankrupt on Park Place. At the end of the night, they'd each say what we were thankful for and most of the time, it was for each other.

But now, Emma's mom and stepdad were baking in the sun of Florida, her daughter decided to stay in the dorms, and she was out of red wine. The thirty six year old woman was almost in tears at the prospect of spending the holiday alone.

Well, mostly alone…

"Max…will you play Monopoly with me?" Max didn't even raise his head in response to her question. Pretending to sleep was how every male got out of a difficult situation and she wasn't about to think differently of her three year old Belgian Malinois. After taking a third shot of good whiskey, she muttered, "Fuck you, then."

Emma got up and walked to her back window where she had a good view of her neighbor's trailer. She hadn't talked to Daryl since she'd run into him in the woods a couple weeks prior but she'd seen him out as she practiced with her bow. And he pretended that she wasn't even there. At one point, he was out doing something to that god damn truck of his, and she managed to hit the bulls eye; stupidly she looked over at him with a proud smile on her face. Just like old times. Except, now, he didn't give a fuck.

"Fuck him, too," Emma exclaimed to her empty house. She didn't seem to realize those three shot of whiskey were catching up to her and those three words had come out slightly lazy and slow. The woman never drank and now she was facing the repercussions of being a lightweight.

Then, unfortunately, the alcohol sweeping fluidly through her system gave her what she considered at the time, a brilliant idea. Grinning, she yanked on her coat and stuffed a purple toboggan over her head… the same purple toboggan that Char had gotten her for Christmas two years ago. Emma found herself pouting as she walked out her back door, leaving Max barking on the inside. If he was going to ignore her inebriated requests for gameplay, then he would have to stay behind, Emma thought to herself. _Ha! That'll show that stinking dog!_

It took almost three minutes to stomp across her back yard, past Daryl's rusty old Chevy and up the wooden steps that led to the trailer. She swallowed a lump in her throat that was probably her brain's early warning signs for "turn back now" and if she hadn't drank that whiskey, she probably would have listened. But she had and now she wasn't so without hesitation, she knocked on the door three times with her knuckles.

Then waited. And waited.

She chewed on her lip and for the first time since she shoved her arms into her jacket, the thought ran through her mind that this might not be such a brilliant idea. But then she heard the creak of the floor coming from the inside and the door creaked open revealing a very tired looking Daryl. He didn't bother to hide his irritation at the blinking, blank expression of his former friend.

"What?" he barked.

Internally, Emma was scrambling, desperate for some sort of revelation that would turn the tide for her and revolve the man's exasperation into some sort of epiphany. She wasn't real sure what she wanted in the long run from him besides some company and maybe a few laughs for old time's sake. She sure as hell didn't want a romantic relationship with him because she'd sworn off men a long time ago. Trouble makers… all of 'em.

"I wanted to invite you and…and Merle for Thanksgiving?" Why that had come out as a question, she wasn't entirely sure but she went with it because saying it over again as a demand would result in a door slammed in her face.

Daryl squinted expression reminded her of how she had looked at the bottom of her shoe the last time she'd stepped in a pile of dog shit. She swayed a little because there was still strong whiskey in her system but she managed to keep eye contact with him. Those blue eyes of his that had always invoked comforting and protective feelings in her were hard and distant; filled with too much pain for his lifetime of thirty six years.

"Go on back home, girl," he grumbled. "Ya wastin' ya time."

The door started to close but she put her palm on it to keep it from closing the whole way. "It's just dinner, Daryl. I'm not asking you for anything but to sit at a table and eat with me."

"Get off m' porch," he said through gritted teeth.

Emma narrowed her eyes. "What in the hell happened to you?"

His face turned red and it wasn't due to any sort of embarrassment. The man had grown pissed and Emma's eyes widened as he opened his mouth because nothing good would come out of it when he was pissed. But before he could throw out whatever colorful insults that were teetering on the tip of his tongue, a familiar voice rang out from behind him.

"Who tha fuck is it?" Merle peeked over Daryl's shoulder and slowly took in the shivering form of Emma as she stood there with her hand still planted on their door. "Well, now, if it isn't our neighbor lady with tha sweet lil' ass."

Emma was far drunker than she realized because she took that as a compliment instead of the vulgar declaration that Merle had intended. She thought her ass was far from little but who was she to argue with the man.

"Did ya finally come ta meet the big dick tha' would prove ta ya tha' movin' 'cross tha country is worth it?"

Okay. Now, she felt the full brunt of the intended rudeness.

Emma put her hands on her hips. "I didn't come to meet anybody's dick." She really needed to be one of those people who stayed at home when she drank with certain rules that she couldn't speak unless she absolutely needed to. This wasn't going as her dizzy mind had planned it and she wondered what their reaction would be if she just turned around and took off. They'd probably laugh and they'd get a good view of just how not-little her ass was. No, she'd come to do this and she was going to do it—Merle's dick quandaries be damned. "I came over to see if you and Daryl wanted to come over tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner."

Merle's eyebrows shot up and he got this cat-that-ate-the-canary look on his face that made her immediately start thinking of ways to cancel the dinner she'd just invited them to: House burning down, emergency with Charlotte, bad period cramps were a few that tittered through her mind.

"Well, tha' sounds—"

Daryl cut him off. "I done tol' her tha' we ain't goin' over."

Merle clapped his brother hard on the back. "Oh, we're gonna go, lil' brother. When's tha last time we had a good dinner with the comp'ny of a pretty lil' lady?" Merle cocked his head. "Ya gonna have cranberry sauce?"

"Homemade," she announced, surprising mostly herself because she'd never made homemade cranberry sauce in her life. She wouldn't even know where to begin. In spite of the lie, she rocked clumsily on her heels in a show of kitchen-pride.

Grinning, Merle said, "I fuckin' hate that shit so don't bother."

Emma shrugged. "I forgot to get cranberries anyway so…"

The three of them stood in the doorway to the trailer looking like a dysfunctional crew of misfits—Daryl scowling at his brother, Merle grinning wickedly and Emma swaying but sobering up quickly at the prospect of having The Dixons in her house in less than 24 hours.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, at five o'clock," she said, giving both brothers a small grin. Neither of them returned it unless you count Merle's unchanging mischievous smile that gave Emma the willies.

"Ya got whiskey?!" Merle shouted after she'd walked halfway back to her house.

"Yep!" She yelled without turning around.

And she was going to fucking need it.

* * *

Emma decided that she deserved a glass of wine. After getting together an impromptu Thanksgiving feast for three adults – that could literally feed ten – she was exhausted. It was a quarter till five and the turkey was done, the potatoes had just been mixed and her grandmother's gravy that she'd made by memory was simmering on the stove. All she had to do was heat up the corn and she'd be ready to entertain. She'd even managed to throw on her most comfortable burgundy dress and put her dark hair up on top her head so that it ended up looking purposefully messy.

The glass of wine wasn't simply a reward for a hard day's work in the kitchen. It was also to help calm her nerves. Not only did she have to look forward to her guests but she hadn't been able to get ahold of Charlotte all day and even though she knew her daughter was careful and smart and made good choices, she felt a little helpless. And sad. It was Thanksgiving and every mother had a right to have at least a three minute conversation with their children on Thanksgiving. It should be in that invisible parental rulebook that she pulled out of her ass on occasion.

The wine went down her gullet way too fast and she plopped down on the sofa with a groan, fanning her face with her hand. Max hopped up on the couch next to her and laid his chin on her thigh. Absentmindedly, she caressed the pinna of both ears with her fingertips and he groaned out a sigh. This was nice, she thought. Why had she felt that being alone would be equal to some sort of horrible apocalypse? But then again, she'd been so busy preparing food all day that she hadn't had time to enjoy the quiet; the quiet that would grate on her nerves after only an hour or so.

Emma wasn't a people person but she hadn't lived alone a day in her life; it was an acquired way of living that, after three months, she hadn't gotten used to. With a sigh, she picked up her phone again and dialed Charlotte's dorm room—no answer. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she hung up and dialed her cell phone and still no answer.

"Maybe, the dorm is having a big Thanksgiving dinner for all the students and she's just having too much fun to call her old Mom," she said aloud. "But what about this morning when I called…she wasn't—"

Two hard knocks on the door made her jump and let out a small yelp. Max was already at the front door by the time she managed to pull herself out of the cushions and set the phone back down on its cradle. She clutched onto her dog's collar before unlocking the door and pulling it open. It was like the impish grin that Merle had plastered on his face the day before, hadn't left; perhaps, he slept like that.

Max was good; he didn't growl or attempt to lunge but he was thoroughly interested in the stranger and Emma ordered him to sit. Reluctantly, he did so but his back legs were on the verge of springing forward if need be.

"How'm I s'pposed ta come in with that dog wantin' to bite ma head off?" Merle asked.

"Don't be an asshole and he won't want to bite your head off," Emma said, giving him a sarcastic smile.

Merle sneered a little. "Come on, Darlin', just put tha dog outside while I'm here. I ain't gettin' bit for no fuckin' turkey."

_I ain't gettin' bit for no fuckin' turkey. _For some reason, that sentence made Emma burst into a fit of nervous giggles. For a moment, the large man outside her door looked ready to snap into a murderous rage, dog or not. But as she pulled on the dog's collar and led him further into the house, he probably figured that she must be drunk because he walked past the threshold and shut the door behind him.

She let the dog go and he hightailed it to the stranger, his nose sniffing a mile a minute along the long legs of Merle Dixon. Emma swallowed another round of hysterical giggles when the dog planted his nose directly in Merle's crotch and became increasingly interested in that particular spot.

Merle stood a little taller and surprisingly didn't try to push the dog away. "Prob'ly thinks there's some sorta dinosaur bone hidden in ma pants." Then he winked.

"Good God," Emma muttered to herself and hissed out her dog's name, trying to call him off.

"Yep. I'd show it ta ya if ya'd lock the fuckin' mutt up. Can't have 'em mistakin' it for somethin' else and wantin' ta gnaw on it, can we?"

Emma let out a sigh because she was already exhausted and the man had just arrived. "For the last time, Merle, I don't and will not ever want to see your penis."

Merle's smile twitched. "Never is a strong fuckin' word ta use, sweet cheeks."

"And Max is trained to go for the crotch if he feels threatened so I wouldn't be so excited to have his nose all up in there." Emma was proud of herself for that one and she turned her back to him in that moment on purpose so he couldn't read the lie on her face. If anyone was a piss-poor liar, it was Emma Whitfield. She chanced a peek behind her and found Merle looking down at Max—who'd moved his nose to less sensitive areas—with a suspicious glare.

"Damn. I need ta git me one 'a these."

Emma decided to change the subject because as dysfunctional as the two of them were together, they were still entirely too close to the subject of Merle's dick.

"So… is Daryl…uh…" she stammered.

"Ain't comin'," Merle said, flashing a toothy grin. "It'll jus' be tha two of us, all quiet an' sweet-like."

Emma's face turned an alarming shade of white. "Oh…goodie."

Merle started walking slowly around her living room, picking up her knick knacks and putting them down almost like he was looking for something in particular. He scanned the pictures on the wall of her and some of her friends back home, one of her Mom and Frank on their wedding day, and a couple landscape pictures she'd taken of Millennium Park in Chicago.

"Uh…do you want something to drink?" She could have kicked herself when her voice came out all shaky and squeaky, like a fucking mouse. "I have wine."

Merle looked over his shoulder. "Do I look like a red or a white kinda guy?"

She rolled her eyes and replied, "Gold. I'll get the good stuff." Then she wandered toward the kitchen with the dog quick on her heels.

A few minutes later, Emma pushed a short glass of whiskey at Merle. "Dinner will be ready in about five minutes."

Merle studied her face. "Yer face is all blotchy."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I had some in the kitchen."

"Whooo, girl," Merle said, grinning. "We should party more often."

Ignoring his comment, she sat down on the couch rather ungracefully and tried to ignore his slow descent up her bare legs with his eyes. That was when she noticed the picture in his hand. His eyes followed her's and he held the frame up and shook it a little at her. "Who's tha girl in tha picture with ya? She looks like a hot lil' piece 'a ass."

"Lemme see," she mumbled and he obliged by holding it up for her. Her eyes widened and for just a moment, she was terrified that she was going to puke all over Merle's boots. "Uh…that's Charlotte."

"Yeah," he said impatiently. "An' who tha hell is Charlotte."

Emma opened and closed her mouth a few times like a dying catfish. "I have to go check on the corn."

There was no way in hell that she was telling Merle that she had an eighteen year old daughter. The man wasn't stupid, as much as his motivations and crudeness suggested it.

Emma stood up and headed for the kitchen, well aware of the strange look that her visitor was giving her. As she mentally face-palmed herself, for the fiftieth time, for inviting either Dixon over for Thanksgiving, three soft taps sounded out from the front door.

"Uh oh," Merle said from the living room. "Lil' Daryl decided ta come over after all."

Thank fuck, Emma thought as she walked to the front door. Not that Daryl would provide much conversation but at least he didn't make her feel like he was ready to assault her at any moment. Even though they hadn't spoken in a hell of a long time, she knew Daryl's heart and he wouldn't let his brother do anything stupid like hurt her.

But when she opened the door, it wasn't Daryl's blue eyes looking back at her, squinting his annoyed, suspicious stare. It was another pair of blue eyes that she didn't think she'd see for another month.

Emma gasped. "Charlotte! What…what are you doing here?"

Her dirty-blonde daughter dropped her big black duffel bag at her feet and pulled her mom into a fierce hug. "Surprise!"

* * *

**_A/N: Ya'll are pretty damn smart so I'm sure you've figured out who Charlotte's Daddy is. Or am I not as transparent as I think I am? O_o Leave me some love, guys! I'd love to know what you think! _**

**_On a side note, what do you think of the first couple of episodes of TWD since it came back? It's getting good, no? Looks like Rick Grimes owes Merle a favor for saving his life, don't you think?_**


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N_: I told you that it'd be fast! LOL! I'm trying to stay four or five chapters ahead and I just finished chapter nine so I thought I'd post this one. Remember that the italics are memories. This one is a little short but I hope it's amusing :)_**

**_Shout outs~_**

**_BlackRose851: Glad you like it! I tend to write a lot of cliffies; I can't seem to help it. :-P_**

**_Brazen Hussy: Merle would totally hit on his own niece, wouldn't he? But I fuckin' love him for it...lol! I just wrote chapter nine and it's Merle's POV and damn, was he fun to write! Can't wait to post it. :) Thank you for reading/reviewing!_**

**_Lilone1776: You ain't seen nothing yet. It gets 10 times more awkward even without Daryl there...lol. Thanks for reading/reviewing! :)_**

**_Amethiste: Glad you like it! I hope this chapter doesn't dissappoint! :) Thank you for reading/reviewing!_**

**_Okay. Nuffa that. I really, really do appreciate the reviews. It lights a fire under my bum to write faster. :)_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own TWD...yada yada yada...no intended infringement...yada yada..._**

* * *

**Chapter**** Five**

_After such a long and emotionally exhausting day, all sixteen-year-old Emma could do was toss and turn. The temperature of her room seemed to go from blazing hot to freezing cold in a matter of minutes and it didn't take long for her ankles to get so tangled up in her sheets that she began to feel claustrophobic. Her brown eyes stung from the constant dabbing and rubbing she'd done at them that day and her chest hurt from the heaving. Emma should have been out as soon as she closed her stinging eyes but she wasn't; all she could do was think and it was really fucking annoying. She tried her best not to wonder about what her dad's last few moments of life were like and if he had suffered. Three days ago – on a Friday night – her dad had swerved off the road and into Lake Sinclair, hood first. They hadn't found him until early Saturday morning when a passerby saw the tip of his bumper sticking out of the murky, dark water. Emma and her mother had called the police just hours before, getting the forty-eight hour rule shoved down their throats._

_Now, it was Tuesday and her Daddy was being buried on Wednesday. She'd tried so hard to dig down deep and find the strength she'd need to get through this like a champ but being only sixteen, it was hard to know where to get it from. Tears filled her eyes and internally, she moaned because she was so sick and fucking tired of crying. _

_Groaning, she kicked the sheets off her ankles and tried desperately to think of something else. Like usual, her brain took her thoughts to Daryl and Merle but this memory didn't involve Merle taking some random tramp up into her tree house for a "fine, good time" or Daryl hissing an annoyed "keep quiet" as they hunted for deer out in the trees. This particular memory came from five years ago when they buried Mrs. Dixon. _

_Emma had just turned eleven and this had been the first time her world had been tainted by death. She had avoided her neighbors for three days, which was a lifetime for her considering she typically spent time with Daryl every day; the little girl just didn't know what to say to them. She couldn't imagine losing her Momma and she couldn't imagine that any words that she would say could make them feel better. _

_At Mrs. Dixon's funeral, there were only a handful of people that came to pay their respects. She had been a sweet woman, always smiling at Emma and sneaking her little pieces of cinnamon candy like it was their little secret. While Mr. Dixon didn't let her leave the house and he treated her badly, it still didn't make her a sad or bitter person. Emma didn't learn until a few years later just how badly she was treated by her husband._

_Present Emma watched the memory in her head like an old movie; her eleven year old self walking through the rain toward the tent-covered coffin, her shoes sinking into the muddy grass and her eyes cast down at her feet. Eleven year old Emma clutched onto her Momma's forearm as if she were afraid that if she didn't hold on hard enough, she'd lose her to wherever it was that Daryl's momma had gone. Tears streamed down her red cheeks as she glanced up and finally took in The Dixon Family surrounding the large wooden box. _

_Mr. Dixon looked like he did every time she saw him, dirty and wobbling on his feet. As he looked up, his dark eyes stabbed into hers and his upper lip tipped into a subtle sneer. Present and past Emma were both convinced that the man was the devil, himself. Merle was standing beside his father, dressed in brown slacks and a white shirt—his expression was blank and his blue eyes empty as they stared at the box where within his mother lie. Eleven year old Emma then looked to the small blonde haired boy, her accomplice, her friend and she felt her bottom lip start to do that shaky thing that always made her embarrassed. Daryl had always been the brave one, the one to convince her that doing the safe thing was the easy way out and the easy way out was for sissies. He'd always been the one to pick her up, dust her off and tell her to get her behind in gear because he wasn't going to hang around with someone who whined all the time. Emma had never seen Daryl look so…so defeated and scared and small, and just the sight of him made fear sweep up her spine and onto her scalp. She knew then, in that very moment, that she hadn't seen nothing yet when it came to the bruises Daryl's daddy had put on his little body._

_After Mrs. Dixon's funeral, the few people that had attended dispersed and went in different directions, avoiding the widower taking hits off of a flask and cursing under his breath to his oldest son. Daryl stood stock still, his blue eyes filled with unshed tears and staring at the sight of his mother being lowered into the ground._

_Emma's momma had called for her, told her to "come along, now" but she couldn't leave him, standing there alone with the weight of ten elephants on his shoulders. Instead of obeying the woman she'd clutched onto only moments ago, she headed in the opposite direction, toward the boy she called her best friend. When she reached him, for a moment, she wasn't even sure if he was aware that she was there but then he looked at her as if she had life's compass embedded somewhere in her pupils. She didn't and he made a face when he, too, realized that there was nothing she could say that would make him feel better about saying goodbye to his momma._

_Present Emma remembers how the little girl she used to be stood beside Daryl as he looked down at the grave, alone and cold and so small; he seemed insignificant, however to her, he was everything but. She remembers doing the only thing that her little mind could think of to do and that was to reach over, ever so slowly, and grab onto Daryl's rough little hand. Daryl never liked being touched but this time, he didn't pull away or look at her like she was crazy; instead, he threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed._

_Tears leaked out of her eyes as the memory came to a close, knowing that she now knew how Daryl felt that day. The following day, she would watch as her daddy was lowered slowly into the soft earth and she would wonder how her world was ever going to make sense again. _

_A sound coming from outside her window made her jump and turn on the lamp beside her bed. She wiped her eyes frantically and took a deep breath as she stood up and headed toward the patio door in her room. Biting her lip, she opened the door and Daryl breezed past her, the warmth of his shoulder brushing hers felt like a blistering fire in the middle of January. _

"_What'd I tell ya 'bout lockin' that fuckin' door?" He hissed without looking at her. "Somebody gonna climb up tha' tree and inta ya room one night and it ain't gonna be me."_

_Emma ignored him because he'd growled at her several times previously for that same damn thing—locking that fuckin' door. Typically, she'd fight back just to annoy him because she knew he was right; she needed to be more cautious. _

"_Lock tha' fuckin' door," he mumbled as he paced a little, his feet barely making noise on the hardwood floor of her room._

_She smiled a little for the first time in days because this was normal. This situation between her and Daryl felt like home in the middle of a graveyard. She needed this. _

_At least two or three times a week, Daryl climbed that big Oak tree beside the patio and shuffled into her room. Sometimes, she'd fiddle with her guitar as he sat in the corner on the floor with his eyes closed; other times, she'd prattle on and on about something happening at school while Daryl flipped through one of her Cosmo magazines; then there were the bad times, the occasions when he would grimace with every move that he made and her eyes would fall on fresh bruises or dried blood. During those visits, they'd just sit in silence and let the grace and comfort of each other's presence be enough. As sick as it sounded, those were the most treasured moments in Emma's life—being that close to someone that mere silence could mean so damn much to her._

_Even though he never talked about it, she knew that his father was the one putting those wounds on his body. It had gotten worse after his momma died but then Merle left for The Marines and things plummeted faster than liquor sales on Sunday. The only good thing was his daddy's frequent adventures, to God knows where, which seemed to last for days at a time._

_She hadn't told anyone about it, afraid that Daryl would become upset with her if she did but she'd been tempted. It would have been so easy for her to tell her momma and daddy and let them call the police but Daryl would never allow his daddy to go to prison. Blood meant more than anything to The Dixons even if it meant freedom for the sixteen year old boy. He would have denied everything just to stay loyal to his kin._

"_Ya sleepin'?" Daryl's voice was gruff and almost shaky. _

_Emma shook her head. _

_Daryl shifted his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat. "Got a buck today. Eight point." He shrugged when she raised her eyebrows. "Merle got a nine last year."_

_The awkwardness was coming off him like a giant tidal wave as he turned his attention to her music collection, the same one he'd looked over a dozen times and scrutinized a dozen more. It didn't matter to Emma that Daryl didn't spew words laced with reassurance or wisdom. What really mattered to her was that he was there and that was all she needed._

_He pulled a tape out of her collection and shook it, not bothering to look at her. "Tim McGraw? Really? Ya got some shit taste in music, girl."_

_Goosebumps trailed over her soft flesh and she couldn't help but tear up all over again. "It's better than listening to Ozzy Osborne scream about a crazy train."_

_Daryl snorted and pushed the tape back into its place with a little more animosity than it deserved. "Whatever."_

_They both sat down on her bed, their backs flat against the cold plaster. For several minutes, the sound of their breathing was the only thing that filled the room. Daryl's eyes were closed as he leaned his head back and Emma decided that it would do her some good to do the same. Slowly, she began to feel her brain start to shut off and her head dropped to the side, hitting the harsh boniness of Daryl's shoulder. He stiffened but the sleep that Emma had been yearning for was too close for her to care so she gave it her all and held still, in spite of his lack of comfort. To his credit, he didn't budge. He allowed her cheek to rest awkwardly on the rough cotton of his flannel shirt and she found herself finally finding some peace. Her body fell heavy and drool pooled in the pouch of her cheek; any thoughts of the following day leaving her mind temporarily for the promise of a sore neck and a cranky redneck neighbor._

_Before she took that final step into dreamland, she felt the slightest bit of movement coming from her nighttime companion. Then tentatively, rough, worn fingers weaved their way through hers and his warm palm pressed firmly into hers. It was his way of saying that he didn't know what the fuck to do but he was here for her. _

_Little did Daryl know that the sixteen year old girl beside him, fell in love in that moment and there was nothing he could do to convince her otherwise._

* * *

"Well, well, well…" Merle's voice broke Emma out of her trance and she shook herself to try and gain at least a little composure. "We was just talkin' about ya, pretty girl."

Charlotte grinned at the stranger in her mother's living room. It wasn't a polite grin that spoke of her respectful upbringing; it was a sneaky, dubious smile that was usually followed by an assault of questions. Emma wasn't ready to answer those questions yet but she wasn't going to let her daughter assume that Merle was anything but a neighbor that she'd invited over for Thanksgiving out of the kindness of her heart.

"You were?" Charlotte narrowed an eye at her mom. "Good things, I hope."

Emma closed the door behind Charlotte and pointed up the stairs. "Go put your bag away, sweetie. I'll, uh, be up in a minute."

Charlotte's eyes widened dramatically. "But, I'm starving and it would be rude not to introduce myself to your guest."

Emma inhaled deeply as Charlotte stepped past her, the girl's slender hand held outright toward Merle. "I'm Charlotte."

Merle grunted and grinned wildly. "Merle."

They shook hands and having never imagined this meeting ever taking place, Emma giggled like a lunatic.

"Okay, now that you're all acquainted, go on upstairs and get settled, Char. Your room will be the first on the left," Emma said, grabbing her daughter by the elbow and leading her toward the staircase.

"But I'm hungry and—"

"It's not ready yet so go," Emma said with finality, looking at her with warning in her eyes.

Charlotte sputtered out a sigh through her full, pink lips. "Alright, but you better yell for me when it's done." She picked up her duffle and started up the stairs, her feet pounding on each step. "And I'm not staying up here all night."

"Well, now," Merle started after Charlotte had climbed the last step, "she's quite tha firecracker."

"You have no idea," Emma muttered, conflicted on what to do since she didn't really want to stand here and talk to Merle but she didn't want to give him the opportunity to sneak upstairs and scare the shit out of Charlotte. "You wanna help me in the kitchen?"

Merle screwed up his face. "Hell no! Tha's women's work."

Emma raised her eyebrows and glanced at his empty glass. "You want more whiskey?"

Merle pushed the glass toward her. "Hit me."

"No, you're coming to get it yourself."

Emma walked toward the kitchen, hopeful that he would take the bait and follow her. For a moment, she thought she'd failed but when he spoke, he was right behind her.

"Never pegged ya fer a carpet muncher, sweet cheeks," he said, a smile in his tone.

She pushed the bottle of amber colored liquid at him. "A what?"

"Ya know," he said, nodding his head upward once and wiggling his eyebrows. "You an' tha blonde… She's a young 'un, too. Bet she's fulla energy."

It took a moment for the light bulb above Emma's head to light up but when it did, she made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a choke. "You think that Charlotte and me are…" She shook her head, unable to spit it out because deep down she was still a southern girl with manners who respected the hell out of everyone else's privacy.

Merle was grinning like the idiot that he was.

"Charlotte and me are what?" Emma's child had perfect timing and she let Charlotte know it by giving her a dirty look as the young blonde made her way into the kitchen. Charlotte looked at Merle, her lip twitched upward in amusement at her mother's obvious lack of comfort. "You think we're what?"

"Beaver eaters," Merle replied.

Emma groaned. Charlotte's eyes went wide for a moment before she sputtered out a laugh. Then she proceeded to bend forward in a fit of giggles.

"What?" Merle asked. "Ya two don't—"

Emma stirred the corn. Charlotte held her hand out to stop him, unable to fit words in between the gasps of laughter. When she had caught her breath, she slumped forward on one of the kitchen chairs and wiped tears from her eyes.

"Dear God, that was funny," she mumbled. "Where'd you find this guy, Mom?"

"Mom? Tha' woman's yer mom?" Merle asked, his voice high pitched. Charlotte nodded and looked at Emma along with Merle. She could practically see the wheels turning in Merle's brain. "Shit. Ya musta been young when ya had 'er."

"For the love of—" The timer on the stove dinged. "Thank God! It's ready."

During the entire dinner, Emma could feel Merle's eyes on her as Charlotte talked about the mundane things that happen to a girl during her first year in college. Emma made appropriate remarks, even though her heart was in her stomach and her brain was traveling a million miles a minute trying to think of how to steer clear of the unavoidable conversation she was going to have with Merle. She was thinking about faking some sort of episode when Merle interrupted Charlotte in the middle of detailed description about her Biology professor.

"This guy is such a jerk and he's only, like, five years older than I am! I mean he—"

"So, how old are ya, Darlin'?" Merle asked.

Charlotte turned to him, her mouth open in midsentence. Emma stopped chewing for just a second, a shot of panic running through her at the question. He knew already and he was going to mess with her for all she was worth.

"Uh…eighteen but I'll be nineteen next month," she replied.

"Tha's a magical age, ain't it, Sugar Plum?" Merle asked, glancing at Emma. "So, tha' means tha' ya got knocked up with this here little girl when you were, what? Seventeen?"

Emma sighed. "Merle, this isn't really the—"

Charlotte cut her off, looking at Emma with suspicious eyes. The girl had a bullshit radar that could compete with any cop's and she didn't have trouble using it. "No, Mom, I'd like to know about this too." She turned to Merle. "She never talks about this kind of stuff."

Merle lifted his hands, palm up. "Your girl needs some answers, woman."

Emma gritted her teeth. "Well, then, that's between me and my girl, don't you think?"

Merle's smile dropped and his amused expression snapped into one that brought back so many memories—disgust. "I think we all got questions tha' need answers."

"Not here," Emma growled through her teeth.

"Mom, what's going on?" Charlotte squeaked, sensing the animosity between the two older people at the table. "Uh…I forgot to tell you about my new roommate!"

Bless Charlotte and her reliable radar.

Merle stood up and downed the last of the whiskey he had in his glass. "I'm outta here."

The two women watched him stomp out of the kitchen and both of them jumped when the front door slammed closed.

"What the hell was that?" Charlotte asked. "Is that guy crazy?"

Emma sighed heavily and let her eyes wash over her daughter. There was no question of who her father was with her dark blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. She had Emma's nose and mouth but those eyes… those were Dixon eyes. For a moment, Emma wondered if this was what she'd wanted to happen from the very beginning. She's been harboring this secret for so long that perhaps, it was the whole reason she'd moved back to Milledgeville, Georgia—so that she'd finally tell everyone involved the entire truth. She didn't have any expectations from anyone; just to get that heavy weight off of her shoulders that had been there since she was younger than Charlotte was now.

"Yeah, he's crazy," Emma finally replied. "And he's also your uncle."

* * *

_**A/N: Daryl's sweet, ain't he? What do you think is going on in that brain of Merle's? Why's he so damn pissed off? How do you think Charlotte will react to learning about Daryl and Merle? Find out next time on the continuing adventures of *cue corny Soap Opera music* "Dead Sea". I really, REALLY appreciate feedback, ya'll! Really. THANK YOU!**_


	7. Chapter Six

**_A/N: This chapter is very *meh* for me no matter how many times I read and try to improve it. I'll update shortly to make up for it. You can also thank DeathofDeaths for this update- the threat was effective :-P_**

**_Shout outs, ya'll!_**

**_Amethiste: I'm glad you liked the chapter AND the shoutout :)_**

**_PeacefulDuck: Glad that you figured it out! Daryl and that magic sperm. You'll find out in the next chapter just exactly how that occured and it happened in typical Daryl fashion. :)_**

**_Brazen Hussy: Aint' nothing wrong with Merle-lovin'. Nothin'. In fact, it goes on in my head practically every day. Shhh... that's our secret. :-P Glad you liked it!_**

**_JustAGirlWithALoveForFiction : You'll get to see Merle's reaction in this one, Charlotte's reaction will have to wait until next chapter and Daryl... well, he'll find out eventually. :) I gotta keep ya hanging around some way, right? LOL! Thank you for your kind words!_**

**_Lilone1776: SOOOOO glad that you liked it! Let's see how Merle handles this, shall we? :)_**

**_DeathofDeaths: You scare me so dear God, I hope you like this one. (This is where they need to invent a sarcasm font because I'm totally loving your review and you, for reading my story)_**

**_Sooooo... BOOM! Shoutouts done. Really guys. *holds hand to heart and gets a little teary* You complete me. Your reviews rock and I appreciate everyone who takes time to review this little story of mine. I hope you continue to like it!_**

**_Disclaimer: I wish I owned Merle. And Daryl. Maybe Rick sometimes (when he's not seeing dead people) but I don't and I never will so this is how I entertain myself between episodes. No infringement intended. :)_**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

There was no way to tell when Merle Dixon would sneak up behind and attack so every day since Thanksgiving, Emma had been looking over her shoulder in preparation for what was to come. There would be accusations, suspicions and finger pointing which she was, believe it or not, prepared for but what she wasn't looking forward to was Merle's blunt approach to any topic that he wasn't happy about.

When she was thirteen, she invited herself into The Dixon home in search of Mr. Dixon's recurve bow so that she could practice with it while he was out of town. He'd been gone for the past few days and Daryl hadn't gotten home from hunting so she slipped the little key out from under the rock by the back door and waltzed in like she'd done it a million times. She hadn't, of course, but that didn't stop a teenage girl on a mission.

Just as Emma reached the bow that was propped up in a corner of the living room, the front door flew open and she knew by the grumbling curse words filling the air, that Mr. Dixon had arrived home. He was followed by Merle, whom she didn't even know was in Georgia since supposedly he'd left for basic training a couple months ago. She took advantage of her ingrained flight response and ducked quickly behind their tan loveseat, which was decorated nicely with smudges of boot-dirt and cigarette burns.

Unfortunately, Mr. Dixon planted his boney, smelly ass right on that loveseat in front of her and everyone knew that once Mr. Dixon planted that thing, it was staying there for at least the next twelve hours. She chewed on her lip in hopes that her momma and daddy wouldn't send out a search party somewhere during that twelve hour span of time because how embarrassing would that be?

Scrounging up every ounce of courage she could muster, she peeked over the edge of the couch just in time for Daryl's daddy to let out a very impressive belch. A wave of whiskey flavored air filled her nose and she scrunched up her face in disgust. That was when Merle happened to spot her and she felt her small brown eyes widen in panic.

She'd gone to church every Sunday that she could remember—save for the time that she had pink eye and that one time that she had an ice cream hangover—and she couldn't recall ever praying as hard as she did in that moment. Merle was gonna turn her in and then they'd need a real search party to comb the woods for her body because the raunchy man sitting on the loveseat in front of her was gonna try to make her disappear. And as if she didn't need something else…or someone else added to the mix, Daryl stomped through the front door, head down and hands covered in blood.

"D'ja git somethin', boy?" Daryl's daddy asked him.

Daryl shrugged, still staring at his feet. "Jus' a couple of rabbits an' a squirrel."

Mr. Dixon barked out a laugh. "Fuckin' useless… Wha' tha hell we gonna do with a Go' damn squirrel, ya retard?"

Merle laughed along with his father but his eyes stayed glued to Emma's, like he was trying to figure out what to do with her. Finally, he slapped his brother on the shoulder and nodded his head sideways. The brothers must have had some sort of secret language because it didn't take long for Daryl's eyes to shoot up and see Emma looking at him like a frightened animal. His shoulders slumped and he let his head fall to the side like she'd exhausted him just by simply being in his presence. She couldn't fault him for it because she certainly had gotten herself into a pickle.

Daryl took a deep breath and nodded sharply at Merle before saying, "What'cha think we're gonna do with it, ol' man? We're gonna eat it."

"The hell ya say ta me?" His daddy yelled as he struggled to get off the couch but Daryl didn't answer; instead, he turned casually around and headed toward the back of the house where his bedroom was. "Git back here, boy!"

Emma held her breath, watching the older man weave sloppily past Merle, following his youngest son. She couldn't see his face but she was certain that there was a nasty sneer across his lips and his eyes were burning hatred.

"Well? Git the fuck out, lil' girl," Merle hissed.

Emma froze for a moment, unsure of whether this was a trick because it wouldn't be the first time that Merle had played a cruel prank on her. She clearly remembered the time that he'd caught her skinny dipping by herself down at the lake and he'd taken her clothes when she wasn't looking.

"Ya better go b'fore the ol' man gits done back there and then yer stuck there all damn night," he said, calmly. Grinning, he pulled a hunting knife out of the sheath on his hip and started picking out dirt from under his fingernails. As if on cue, the angry voice of Mr. Dixon became enraged and some horrible noises reverberated off the wooden walls of their home. As much as she tried, she couldn't hear a peep out of her friend but she knew deep down what was happening; what he'd done to keep her safe.

She hopped up, gave the recurve bow one last glance before walking toward the front door. Using up the last of her bravery, she scuttled past Merle who was eyeing her like the scared little animal that she was sure she looked like. When she was going past him, he grabbed at her, his long fingers wrapping around her upper arm. A yelp burst forth from her throat instinctively as Merle pushed her up against the wall by the front door. Swallowing a large and uncomfortable lump in her throat she met his eyes which were only inches away from her own—blue and dark with a hint of extraordinary sorrow.

Using his finger, he shushed her by tapping his own lips and then slowly brought the sharp hunting knife up so it was at her eye level. She felt herself start to shake and she tried really fucking hard to keep her bottom lip from doing that embarrassing quivering thing. Her attempts were futile because not only was her bottom lip quivering but her eyes were filling up with tears, just waiting for a nice hard blink so they could be unleashed.

"I ever catch ya in my house again…" He left the threat hang there, in the air just like it was intended. "Git outta here." He pushed her toward the door and she practically crashed through the screen. "And stay the fuck away from that lil' pussy I call a brother, too. You ain' nothin' but fuckin' trouble for him, you hear?"

Emma ran. Fast. Hard. Just like those stupid tears as they sprung loose from her eyes and down her cheeks as she reached her house. Instead of going through the front door, she climbed up the oak and collapsed on the balcony outside her room. With a groan, she pushed her face into her hands and cried out of fear of that threat and sadness for what Daryl was going through in that very moment because of her.

The memory of the hate in Merle's eyes made pulling back the string to her bow just that much more tolerable. Her fingertips were throbbing but the feeling of fear that had been enforced upon her by Merle Dixon as an impressionable thirteen year old was unforgivable and it made the numbness in her fingers take a backseat to her anger. Back then, she'd been embarrassed and afraid of the older boy but now, it just pissed her off because she'd been pushed around plenty since then. Emma knew what it was like to have someone raise their fist to her and follow through on the threat. And she'd be damned if—.

"Hey, Darlin', you're gettin' a little better but ya still shoot like a girl." Merle's voice made her grit her teeth and she mentally repeated her mantra: She wouldn't allow this to happen again. Emma wasn't going to be pushed around by someone just because they were bigger than her and had a chip on their shoulder. That damn traitor of a dog laying at her feet didn't even utter a threat; instead, the tip of his tail twitched like he was actually fucking happy to see the redneck.

Emma sneered as she released the string and the tip of the arrow embedded itself in bale of hay. She'd missed the target completely but at least she'd managed to keep it out of the surrounding trees.

"Fuck off, Merle," she grumbled, grabbing another arrow out of her case.

Merle let out an impressed whoop. "Come on, now! I'm just tryin' to help ya out!" She cocked an eyebrow at him and his smile grew. "Givin' ya some pointers."

Emma held her bow out to him. "Fine. Show me your pointers, old man."

"Oh, I got a nice, big pointer to show ya, sweet heart." His hand went to his crotch and he grabbed ahold of himself in a manly display of idiocy.

"You're disgusting," she grumbled as she turned around and prepared another arrow.

"No, no, lemme have it," he said, coming up behind her. "Lemme show ya how it's done."

With a heavy sigh, she handed him the bow and he didn't waste time setting the arrow and pulling back the string. While Emma seemed to use every ounce of strength she had to pull that string back, it was like flicking an ant off a countertop for Merle. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took aim for the bull's eye and when he let his fingertips slip off the string, it was the most graceful thing that Emma had ever seen the man do. The arrow slid into the center of the target as if there was no other place for it to go and Emma couldn't help but feel the slightest bit impressed.

"Now, that's how it's done, darlin," he mumbled, handing her back the bow. "If ya ever want some private lessons, ya jus' let ol' Merle know."

She didn't know why she felt the sudden need to explain herself but she did. "I haven't done this for years." Merle didn't seem to care as he walked by her and away from her. Emma put a hand on her hip. "It was how I got through college…I got an archery scholarship."

Merle turned on his heel and glared at her. "I guess ya can think ma brother for tha', right?" He raised his eyebrows and before she could answer, he added, "Or maybe ya paid him back for all those pansy ass lessons eighteen years ago with yer cherry."

Emma set her bow down and walked up to him, molars pressed together so hard she thought they might crack. "Okay, Merle, get all your empty threats out." He cocked his head and glared at her with a sneer that looked similar to the one that took up permanent residence on his daddy's face so many years ago. "Tell me that you'll slit my throat if I tell Daryl about Charlotte. Go ahead and bring that knife out and draw a little blood if that makes you feel like a fuckin' man." Emma stepped closer, her chest touching his abdomen and his hot, deep breaths hitting her in the face like fire. "I'm not thirteen years old anymore."

"Oh, I can see that, sweet cheeks," he drawled but there was no humor in his tone. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked unabashed at her chest as it rose and fell with angry breath. That seemed to be his warning which Emma hadn't seen coming. A shot of panic rushed through her and fuck, if she didn't feel her body start to shake. Before she either stabbed him with an arrow head or collapsed to the ground in a fetal position, she turned away from him and picked up her bow. She set the arrow on the string and yanked it back, her nerves and waning strength making the bow shake slightly.

"I never intended for either of you to find out about her," she murmured and then let her fingertips slip off the string. The arrow hit the bottom corner of the target and she sighed. "She wasn't even supposed to be coming home so…"

"Daryl wouldn't know wha' the fuck to do if he found out—"

"I'm not going to tell him," she said, walking to pull out the arrows that were sticking out of her hay targets. "She doesn't know either…well, she does now but she's not going to push it." Emma hoped beyond hope that Charlotte wasn't going to push it because when this can of worms came open, it was going to be slimier and more stinky than your average. Charlotte and Emma hadn't exactly had a heart to heart since Thanksgiving and she'd left to go back to school with a heavy, silent heart. She turned back to face him after she pulled the last arrow out of the target—it was the one that Merle shot and she had to use an extra ounce of gusto to get it free. "Let's just pretend that you never even met her."

Merle made a mistrustful face and crossed his flannel covered arms over his chest. "Why the hell'd you move back out here?"

Emma snorted. "I ask myself that question every damn day."

He looked at her for a few minutes longer, studying her expression and body movements in hopes to pick up on some sort of deceit. But there wasn't any so he sighed out a curse and looked toward his trailer. "So, you an' me…we actually agree on somethin'?"

Emma let out a short laugh. "Yeah, I think we do."

"All right, then." Merle turned away from her and started walking back to the trailer but before he got too far away, he looked over his shoulder at her. "Just remember that I'm not gonna hesitate to put the hurt on ya if ya lyin' ta me."

And just like that, the pleasant ending to their conversation had taken a turn, ending in an unspoken threat. Why was Emma not surprised?

* * *

Something special happened when a strong puff of nicotine laced smoke filled the mouth and lungs of a stressed out woman. Emma swore that it was medicinal even though it was widely known that it was a deadly habit. She took another hit and groaned as it filled her lungs and she exhaled smoothly through pursed lips. Her body relaxed so instantly that she had to make sure that what she was smoking was the legal kind of tobacco and not the wacky kind. Laughter sputtered from her lips because even if she had the wacky kind, she wouldn't know what the hell to do with it. Through all of her insubordinate younger years, she'd never put illegal drugs into her system. It wasn't through lack of opportunity because Merle had taunted her with them numerous times; she hadn't tried them for the fear of the unknown. It was one thing to do something completely reckless and stupid, the end result being an injury or an exasperated lecture. It was another to put something in your body, having no idea what the effects would be or the ending result.

"The hell's wrong with ya?" A soft, angry voice shouted from below her. With her elbows on the wooden railing, she peered down at the squinty face looking up at her. "Ya look like ya been punched in the gut."

Emma shrugged. "I could ask you the same thing." Daryl looked away from her and toward the trailer on the back of her property. A curse floated through Emma's mind because her reply had made him consider escaping back to his hole. _So damn sensitive…_

"Why don't you come up?" Emma asked. Daryl glanced up at her, squinting one eye more than the other like it was killing him to even think about making some sort of eye contact. "Oh, come on, climb on up."

"Nah, I ain't climbin' up there," he mumbled.

"So," she sighed, "did you come over here to glare at me or what?"

In some sort of performance to prove his manliness, he spat loudly on the ground at his own feet. "The hell'd you say to my brother to get him so irritated?"

Emma's face curled into a confused expression. "What? When?"

"After he came over here that night a couple a weeks ago, he came home pissed and mean." Oh. That. "Thought it might be somethin' that ya said to 'im and then, yesterday he got into it with you out in the back. Came back inside the house whistlin' like he hit the goddamn lottery."

"So, you're blaming me for Merle's mood swings?" Emma scoffed and rubbed her cigarette out on the cheap plastic ashtray that she had setting up on the railing. "Merle is a walking mood swing, Daryl. That has nothing to do with me."

"Look," he said, with a hand on his hip. "All I wanna know is what you two were fightin' about and why he's all a sudden fine with you livin' here."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "He said that?"

"What?"

"That he's fine with me living here?"

Daryl cocked his head but didn't answer.

Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I never pegged you for carin' about the neighborhood drama."

"Never – fuckin' – mind," he mumbled, turning on his heel. "Christ, just forget it."

"Okay…I'll tell you," Emma said, panicking because she desperately wanted to have a conversation with the man. She wasn't sure why but the need had sat there on her chest ever since she ran into him in the woods over a month ago. "You climb up that tree without breaking your neck and I'll tell you."

He looked up at her and made direct eye contact which was a pretty rare thing. "I ain't climbin' up that fuckin' tree."

After Emma had went downstairs and let him in through the back door, she led him back up to the outdoor balcony, ignoring the awkward tension that surrounded them as they went through her old bedroom to get to it. It was freezing outside and she grabbed a blanket to wrap around her shoulders before she walked back out the door. The more sensible thing would be to sit down on her couch in her living room, have a glass of wine and reminisce about old times in front of the fire place. But Daryl had never been sensible. He was too much like a scared animal when it came to talking about the serious shit in life so being outside would make him a little more comfortable.

"So I played your stupid game," Daryl muttered, leaning his back against the side of the house.

"No, you didn't," Emma shot back. "I wanted you to climb the tree."

He shook his head and snorted, not out of amusement. "Why th' hell do you wan' me to climb that damn tree? I ain't no monkey in no show for yer amusement."

Emma smiled and shrugged. "Brings back good memories," she said, her tone reflecting more of a question than an answer.

"I tol' ya that we—"

"I know, I know…we're not gonna be friends," she retorted, cutting him off. "I just…you seem so damn angry, Daryl."

He straightened and sneered at her, the defensiveness rolled off of him like a tsunami. "I don't give a shit what you think, woman." Daryl stepped toward her, and as his shoulders went back and his chest puffed out, Emma realized just how much he'd changed since he was eighteen years old. Good God, he was a man with biceps, and a beard, and that typical chip that men usually carried around on their shoulders. The biceps, she could understand and the beard…well, that was no surprise but that typical arrogance that she had detected in almost every man that she'd ever met was a disappointment to Emma. Daryl had always been sensitive and had always done things his way but to feel this superiority coming from him… it made her step back. That was when it finally hit her that he was right—they weren't ever going to be friends. She'd be surprised if they even became the type of neighbors that waved to each other from across the yard. "Are you gonna tell me what's goin' on between you and my brother or not?"

"He, uh, was very insulting when he came over for Thanksgiving," Emma said quietly, flying by the seat of her pants with the lie. Even though Daryl and her were so different, it still bothered her to know that Merle knew the truth when he didn't. If anyone should know, it was Daryl; especially, now that Charlotte knew.

Daryl snorted. "What'd ya expect? Ya never shoulda invited him over."

"I invited both of you."

He ignored that and asked, "So, what happened out in the back yard yesterday?"

Emma offered him a sad, tight smile. "We came to an understanding."

There was some blinking and some staring before he held up his hands in a what-the-fuck kind of gesture. "And?"

She shrugged. "That's all."

"Jesus…" he cursed, "and here I thought you were the honest one outta the two of ya."

When she didn't respond, he huffed and turned on his heel to walk back through the patio door. She wasn't sure why she felt the need for more self-abuse but she stopped him by calling out his name. Surprisingly, he halted with the door halfway open and one foot in the door.

"What'choo want?" he asked, without turning around. "If you ain't gonna tell the fuckin' truth, we're done here."

"Can…can I just ask you one thing?" He took a deep, exasperated sigh that she took as an affirmative. "Do you…do you regret what happened between us before I left for Chicago?"

Instinctively, she closed her eyes to protect her from any harsh looks that he might throw over his shoulder. After a few beats, she opened one eye and peeked at him, relieved to find his back still toward her. The few seconds of silence might as well have been hours. Suddenly, the cold chill of winter was making her muscles spasm and her bones grow stiff.

"Nah, but I sure as hell don't ever think about it," he replied.

She nodded and a spark of something shot through her as he walked away from her because that answer was sure as hell a lot better than she thought she'd get.

* * *

_**A/N: You gotta admit that Merle shooting that perfect bulls eye was a little hot, right? Yeah? *elbow nudge* Yeah? Okay, okay, I'll stop. So, both the Dixon boys look a little dickish, right? Well, what did you expect? Only a couple more chapters until we get to the big ZA! Woot! **_

_**How is everyone enjoying the show! Merle sorta-kinda trying to make nice with Michonne? Daryl showing off those biceps all damn day! I can't concentrate with all the Dixon muscle they're showing! I could talk about it for a week straight. I annoy the hell out of the people I work with...lol.**_

_**So, please, tell me what you thought! Reviews make me wanna update! THANK YOOOOOU!**_


	8. Chapter Seven

**_A/N: This chapter is pretty self explanatory. Next chapter we get to meet our first zombie. :) _**

**_Shoutouts:_**

**_TearsOfTheForgotten: Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad that you like it. I hope to make Merle do many more things that make him look sexy. ;)_**

**_Lilone1776: Holy Review, Batman! Thank you! Merle's threat in that last chapter pertained to Emma making sure that Daryl doesn't find out about Charlotte. Such a good point about Merle, too - that he wouldn't even try to shoot the arrow if he wasn't sure if he'd hit the target dead-on. :) I appreciate your kind words!_**

**_Blackrose851: THANK YOU!_**

**_Brazen Hussy: Merle's threats are kinda hot to me too so we'll both end up in the same loony house someday. At least we'll have great company! Thanks for the review! :)_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own TWD. If I did, I'd never let either Dixon wear a shirt. Like, EVER._**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Typically, getting the silent treatment from her eighteen year old daughter wouldn't have bothered Emma. In fact, during those eighteen years, when she did get the silent treatment, she considered that a job well done because it meant that whatever lesson she'd been trying to teach the girl had sunk in. However, this time, it wasn't a lesson being taught or a strict rule being enforced. This time, it was because Emma had withheld information from her daughter. Granted, it was important information but Emma didn't think that Charlotte's case held any water when she called her a liar on Thanksgiving night nearly a month ago. Everyone knew that suppression of facts does not make someone a liar. The problem was that Emma did, in fact, lie to Charlotte when she gave her the impression that her father had perished in a work related accident when Emma was pregnant with her.

So much for innocence…

Now, the name-calling and tears had transitioned into a pitiful silent treatment that resulted in a frustrated mother and a pouting, stare-into-space-for-hours daughter who was visiting for Christmas break. Finally, Emma had had enough and she let everyone—Canine included—know it when she slammed her palms down on the kitchen island with a loud slap. Charlotte jumped and looked at her mom like she'd grown an extra head, complete with blue ears and pus-filled acne. Accustomed to Emma's impulsive outbursts, Max simply cocked his head and twisted an ear as he sighed onto his paws, disturbed from a nap on the hardwood floor of the kitchen by her feet.

"Charlotte, this is ridiculous," Emma muttered. "You can't stay mad at me forever."

The blond shrugged and fiddled with the hem of her shirt with her fingers. "I'm not mad."

Emma snorted. "That's bullshit." Charlotte's pout turned into an irritated scowl. "If you have something to say, just out with it already." And because Charlotte knew just the way to turn Emma's irritation key, she went back to staring at the wall beside the fireplace. "Fine. How about I repeat a little of what you said to me on Thanksgiving night; maybe, that'll replenish the burning fires of your candor that have seemed to extinguish since then."

"Mom, I don't want to fight with you," she mumbled. "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and—"

"Let's just do this, Char, so we can go back to being…us." Emma sat down on the couch next to her daughter and nudged down the temptation to wrap the girl in a tight hug. "You've barely spoken to me in a month and it's just about killed me."

Charlotte turned sideways on the couch so that the two women were facing. "I'm sorry, it's just..." She cleared her throat and blew out a quick breath. "Why can't I meet him, at least? Why is this some big secret? Don't you think he has a right to know that he has a daughter?"

Emma chewed on her bottom lip while she considered her questions. "I think that the type of guy that Daryl is…he wouldn't want to know that you exist."

If possible, Charlotte's bottom lip stuck out even further. "So, he's an asshole?"

There was a time when Emma would have defended Daryl's honor but she wasn't so sure that Charlotte was far from the truth at this point. Something had happened to Daryl and it changed the way that he looked at her now. Maybe it was just time or perhaps regrets that made him feel so bitter about their past together but there was no rhyme or reason to analyzing it because she'd never get any answers.

"Honestly?" Charlotte nodded. "I have no idea what kind of man he is now, Char. When I knew him, he was my best friend and I loved him." Hope seeped into her daughter's eyes and a smile tugged at her lips.

"Why did you tell me that my dad was dead?"

Emma shrugged. "Because to me, for the longest time, he was."

"But he's not, Mom."

The look in her eyes sent Emma into a downward spiral of guilt and shame and every other emotion in the universe that could make her chest feel like a torture chamber complete with whips and chains. The blame in her blue eyes was evident but there was also curiosity and pain; for the first time, Emma comprehended that growing up without a father had been tougher for Charlotte than she had realized. After she graduated college, she became sole caregiver for her daughter and she honestly didn't think that the girl would miss that aspect of her life. Sure, there were times when Emma tried to fill that role with someone but she'd failed…miserably. And she had the scars to prove it.

"Okay," Emma sighed, "I'll make a deal with you. Someday, not today and not tomorrow, I promise that I will introduce you to him but you have to be patient."

"But—"

Emma held up a finger, stopping her daughter's protests. "In the meantime, you can ask me anything you want about your…father. I'll answer as honestly as I possibly can and maybe you'll understand a little better about why I did what I did."

Charlotte examined Emma with narrowed, suspicious eyes before agreeing to the deal because something was better than nothing. So, for the next couple of hours, as Max looked on from the overstuffed armchair across the room, Emma's daughter asked her question after question about her childhood, her relationship with her neighbors and most embarrassingly, how she got pregnant at the age of sixteen. Just when Emma thought she'd satisfied the young girl's curiosity for a while, Charlotte blurted out a question that turned her cheeks red and hot.

"How long had you and Daryl been, uh, sleeping together before you got knocked up?" Charlotte asked.

Granted, it was a simple question but Emma had never been comfortable talking about sex with anyone, let alone her eighteen year old daughter. The "Birds and The Bees" talk was the most awkward conversation that the two had ever had with each other… until now.

"Well, he'd climb up that tree outside my room all the time and sometimes, he'd fall asleep at night but we never…"—Emma took a deep breath and tried her best to shove the discomfiture deep down to where it would only resurface when she was alone—"…slept together until the night before Grandma and me moved to Chicago."

Charlotte's dark blond brows furrowed together as she considered her mother's words. "So, you never really were boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Emma snorted. "Not really. That wasn't Daryl's style. We were more like best friends that looked out for each other. That last night…something just clicked between us." Pain moved into her chest as she thought back on that night…the last time she'd seen Daryl before moving back a few months ago. The thought of her sixteen year old self never seeing the boy again was almost as painful as watching her father being buried. "We were both upset and it didn't take much for us to just get…carried away."

"So…what was it like?"

Emma shifted in her seat and looked at everything but her daughter because what kind of fucking question was that? However, she'd promised to provide her with answers and if this was the form of punishment dealt upon her by the Gods of reprisal, then so be it.

"Uh…there was awkward fumbling hands and uncomfortable noises and—" A soft smile pulled at her lips as she thought back on the intimate moment. "There was a sort of gentleness to Daryl that I'd never really seen before. He was almost affectionate when he…well, you know."

Charlotte screwed her face up. "Yuck. I was asking about what it was like being pregnant at sixteen, Mom." Then she visibly shuddered out of disgust for good measure. "Not…the conception part."

Emma's laugh was a little high pitched and lasted a moment longer than necessary. "Oh, well…" The two shifted a little, avoiding eye contact. Max whined across the room and they immediately started fussing over the dog in an effort to forget the last few moments of the conversation.

As they let the dog outside, and they stood at the door watching him urinate on the tires of Charlotte's Honda and several bushes, Emma spoke. "It was terrifying." When she noticed the confusion on her daughter's face, she shot her a tight lipped smile. "Being pregnant so young. But, I had an amazing mom who supported me and I was able to get my degree so that I could give you a good life. I was extremely lucky."

"Do you ever regret not telling him?" Charlotte asked.

"Sometimes," she replied, "but mostly for selfish reasons. I had this idea in my head, especially when you were younger, that he'd swoop in out of nowhere and help solve all my problems like he did when I was little girl."

"Like with Gary." It wasn't a question but a statement because they both knew what a problem that man had been in both of their lives. He was someone that Emma had wanted to trust but in the end, he only provided her with years of therapy and a daughter with skepticism when it came to the opposite sex. It took a long time for either of them to recover from that couple years of their lives however it had helped forge the unbreakable bond that sat so heavily between the two women.

"When it got really bad…I picked up the phone so many times, thinking that if I only called Daryl, he'd find his way to Chicago and kick some ass. One time, I even dialed and the operator message came on…disconnected number." Emma sighed sadly and blinked away tears that would have embarrassed her. "It would have been wrong to call him in that kind of situation and expect him to play knight in shining armor."

In silence, they watched Max patrol the yard and sniff the air for either threats or animals. When he was done, he trotted to the door and they let him in with whoops of praise and a bone.

"From what you've told me about him, it sounds like he would have come," Charlotte murmured as they sat down on the couch again. She had a peace about her that wasn't there before and it hit Emma hard to know that these questions had burned on the girl's tongue for so long. Not just about her father, since she'd thought he was dead, but about her own mother's past.

Emma shrugged in response. "Maybe…maybe not. But, we got here on our own and we're both stronger for it, don't you think?" Charlotte nodded. "I might have regrets but I wouldn't change anything about how you turned out. I think I'll keep you, Char."

The young blond giggled and rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I don't have a choice in whether I get to keep you or not."

"You'd send me back?" she asked, mocking offense.

"Nah," she said, smirking. "I'd put you on EBay and cross my fingers for an honest buyer."

* * *

_Emma opened her eyes and glared at the boxes stacked up in her room for the tenth time since she'd lain down to sleep. She still couldn't believe that she was leaving and not just for vacation. After her father died, her mom tried for a while to get on with her life but living in the same house she'd shared with the love of her life proved too much for the woman to handle. So, Glenda Whitfield made some phone calls and contacted some people that she'd went to graduate school with in an effort to relocate away from the memories that they'd worked so hard to create. Memories that she never, in a million years, thought she'd run away from. After a few months of searching and returning phone calls, she was offered a job in Illinois as a Guidance Counselor for a high school in Chicago. It was too good to pass up, in spite of Emma's silent treatment and angry, emotional words._

_This would be her last night in Milledgeville, Georgia. And she was having a good old fashioned temper tantrum about it. Her mom had went to bed over an hour ago, telling Emma goodnight through the wooden door because there was no way Emma would open it to face her. Silent treatment did no good if you pretended like the other person existed, even for a moment. _

_She understood why her momma needed to leave. The memories were painful for her too but leaving Milledgeville? It was all she knew and all she really cared about. In her naïve little mind, she had her entire life mapped out and it all revolved around the small town she grew up in. There weren't many people that she'd miss since she didn't have a ton of friends but this was home. She felt that moving to Chicago meant suffocation and traffic jams and rude arrogance. Plus, her daddy had been buried five miles up the road and she felt like she was betraying him if she left without a fight. _

_And then there was Daryl. What the hell was she going to do without Daryl? As she lay there, staring up at the ceiling with her molars pressed together in resentment, she made a silent vow that she'd never lose contact with her friend. She'd call…write letters if she had to. Her mom might have been forcing her to leave Milledgeville behind but she refused to leave the piece of her childhood that got her through so much shit: Her awkward growth spurt, the many times she'd gotten lost in the woods and the loss of her father. No, she would keep some part of him with her and never lose it; she'd find her way back no matter how long it took._

_Speaking of the devil, the seventeen year old in question had just climbed up onto her balcony and was peering in through her window like some sorta lunatic. He had his hands cupped around his eyes as he tried to use the moonlight to make out if anything was moving around on the inside. Looking frustrated, he tapped on the glass a few times with the tip of his finger and just to get him riled up—because it was one of the things she loved most about him—she didn't budge to let him in. Instead, she watched him start to pace quietly and imagined the soft growl of irritation that undoubtedly escaped roughly from his throat. Before long, he stopped the pacing and cupped his eyes to the glass again, his eyes too dark to pinpoint where exactly he was looking. She knew it the moment he spotted her, sitting on the bed and watching him with that amused smirk on her pink lips. He backed away from the window and put his hand on his sides, cocking his hip to the side and looking like he might shoot a glance at a pretend watch any second. _

_Finally, Emma chuckled softly and climbed off the bed to let him into her room. In an effort to be subtle, she didn't turn her light on and painfully stubbed her toe on of the moving boxes as she crept to the door. Limping and muttering colorful curses into the air, she twisted the lock and pulled open the door. Just like so many times before, he slinked past her like some sort of predatory cat— soundless and with steps chock-full of significance. _

"_The hells wrong with ya?" he asked when he spotted her limping back to her bed._

"_Stubbed my toe, lettin' ya in," she replied dryly._

_He barked out a short, low laugh. "Tha's what'cha get! Leavin' my ass out there, lookin' like a damn fool."_

_Emma smiled brightly. "It was well worth it, Daryl."_

_He responded with a low, "Ha-fuckin'-ha-ha"._

_They sat down on the bed next to each other, Daryl groaning as his back pressed against the wall. Emma eyed him carefully, noticing the slight grimace as he adjusted his position beside her._

"_What happened this time?" she asked with a frown. He cut his eyes to her and responded with a don't-go-there grunt. Every ounce of resentment she had buried inside of her, due to her move, came rushing out in a burst of misdirected anger. "No, I wanna know what he did this time," she hissed. "Is it your arm? Your back? Your head?"_

_Daryl got off the bed surprisingly fast. "Just leave it the hell alone, girl."_

_She shook her head frantically. "No, not this time. I'm leaving tomorrow so I don't have to pretend that nothing is wrong so you don't flip your lid and stay mad at me for a month. I have nothin' to lose here." She got off the bed and stood chest to chest with him…or rather chest to belly. "One day, he's gonna get what's comin' to him and it ain't gonna be pretty."_

_Daryl scoffed. "Yeah? And who's gonna set 'im straight? You? All hundred and twenty pounds of ya?" Emma didn't want to feel flattered at all by the fact that he'd taken fifteen pounds off of her weight by his statement but she couldn't help it. His unrealized question instinctively made her back away from him a little because every girl likes to feel skinny, regardless of the situation. And she certainly wasn't going to correct his mistake. "Sometimes life ain't pretty, sweetheart, and we either deal with it or we take the easy way out. And Dixons don't take the fuckin' easy way outta nothin'."_

_Emma snorted. "You sound like Merle."_

_Daryl snarled. "And ya make tha' sound like a bad thing."_

"_Oh, there's nothin' wrong with being Merle if you're a stripper at Pearl's or crack head from Atlanta because Merle'll fix you right up, won't he?" The anger was rolling off of both of them in waves, smacking into the other one like a sack of rocks. "Merle is takin' the easy way out whether he wants you to believe it or not."_

_For a moment, Emma was certain that Daryl was going to hit her. He even formed both hands into fists at his sides and clenched his jaw so hard, she thought for sure he'd pull a muscle. But then he sighed deeply and took a step away from her, turning on his heel toward the door. "Fuck this shit." _

_No, no, no, no, no…_

_Emma panicked. Every ounce of resentment, every muscle fiber collapsing with tension, every emotion even related to anger wept out of the pores of her skin and into the tan carpet beneath her feet. "Fuck this shit"—those can't be the last three words he says to her. This wasn't how she imagined saying goodbye to her dearest friend and it was up to her to alter their last memory of each other._

"_Please…" she squeaked just as his hand grasped onto the doorknob leading onto her balcony. "Daryl, don't…"_

_He stood there for the longest time until Emma felt faint from the burning air being held in her lungs. The exhale that poured from her lips felt like salvation to her body but at the same time, caused tears to purge in her brown eyes. This was a turning point in her life and she knew it. _

_Daryl still hadn't moved because he was waiting for her to say something that was worth making him stop. It could be a sentence or a fuckin' speech but one thing was certain—the man was going to be out of her life for good on a damn bad note if she didn't do something to stop it. As she blinked the tears out of her eyes and took slow, significant steps toward him, she filtered through each and every excuse, reason and memory she had stored in her brain in an effort to come up with something that would keep him there. Unfortunately, all she came up with was, "I still have your Metallica tape."_

_He cut his eyes to her and made a face. "I been lookin' for tha' since June." He turned to face her and narrowed his eyes. "I ain't even got a memory of actually givin' that to ya ta borrow."_

_Emma plastered a fake pout on her face. "I asked you if I could listen to it and you grunted at me so I borrowed it from your truck last winter." He put his hands on his hips and cocked an eyebrow. "And it was one of them affirmative grunts…not the kind of grunt that means that you aren't listenin'." When a skeptical expression passed over his face, she huffed. "Oh, I know the difference. Ten years of Dixon grunts…trust me, I know the damn difference."_

_Daryl let out a pooped sigh. "Well, go git it."_

_She spent the next ten minutes, opening and re-taping boxes until Daryl got fed up and told her to "knock it the hell off before she wakes up her momma." _

"_I'll mail it to you," she offered._

_Daryl shrugged. "Whatever."_

_Emma watched Daryl pace slowly around her room, his eyes moving over the now empty walls and unfilled corners. Unable to stop herself, she gasped when she caught sight of small patches of blood soaking through the back of Daryl's white t-shirt. As soon as his eyes met hers, he stiffened and his eyes wandered toward the door to the balcony._

_The dark haired girl staring at him shook her head. "Just let me look at it. I won't say anything…else." When his weight shifted and he eyeballed the door again, she panicked. "You need to get that cleaned up and you won't be able to reach it on your back. Who's gonna do it for you?"_

_Daryl let out an annoyed grunt. "How 'bout the shower?"_

_Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "Quit bein' such a baby and take off your shirt so I can wash out those cuts. I'm gonna go get some bandages out of the bathroom. I think there's a few left under the sink that we didn't pack up yet." When he just stared at her, she gave him the always-recognized "shoo" hand gesture before heading toward the bathroom. By the time she got back, only two minutes had passed and she silently congratulated herself on the stealthy tip-toeing she'd done; however all that celebration turned into crap when she saw Daryl, sitting on her bed and still adorned in that dirty, white t-shirt._

"_I thought I told you to take off your shirt," Emma mumbled._

"_Ya ain't the boss'a me." He shifted under her gaze and he wished more than anything that she'd say something. Anything. But she didn't. Instead, she just stood there blinking at him, the pity welling up in her eyes making him feel more and more ashamed and pissed off. When he wanted her to shut the hell up, she was a jabber box but—_

"_Will you at least sit with me?" she asked as she crawled up on the bed, her movements slow and her brown eyes peeking up at him from under her thick lashes. _

_Emma was a beautiful girl. Those dark eyes of hers and full, pink lips—that curved into a smile at some of the stupidest shit in the world—made her look innocent and seductive at the same damn time. Sometimes, Daryl had a hard time deciding whether he wanted to protect her or take her over his knee and show her what his brain conjured up in terms of night time fantasies. She had a nice round butt and tits that made just about every fuckin' boy in Georgia spring a woody at the sight of her performing just a simple mid-mornin' arms-behind-her-head stretch. Daryl had thought of her in that manner because, fuck, he was a man and what man wouldn't? But he never let his thoughts go past the fantasy phase because the girl was his friend and that was it. _

_However, as Daryl plopped down on the bed next to his friend, he couldn't help but notice how she wasn't wearing a bra. That wasn't unusual since Daryl's visits to her room late at night were frequent and the girl apparently never wore a bra a night. What wasn't typical about this was the blue v-neck t-shirt she had on seemed a little too big for her and he got much more of a view than he normally did._

"_That m'shirt?" Daryl scrunched his face up as he avoided eye contact. He picked up the hem of the shirt and flicked it so she knew what he was talking about._

"_Yeah," she sighed._

_After a beat of silence, Daryl made an annoyed sound. "Well, how the hell did ya get it?"_

_She shrugged. "Stole it."_

_They made eye contact and at the same time that Daryl snorted, Emma broke into a fit of giggles. She put her forehead on his shoulder, and laughed so hard that Daryl found himself holding in his own laughter. That was how Emma made Daryl's life just a little bit easier. Just the sound of her bustin' up over somethin' really damn stupid made him feel just a little bit lighter and a lot bit normal. He had to admit that his relationship with the girl might've appeared strange to anyone on the outside lookin' in but to them, it was just…normal. Emma ended her fit of giggles with an unladylike snort and a slap of her palm to her thigh._

"_Oh, God, I don't even know why I'm laughing anymore," she said, trying to catch her breath._

"_Don't ask me," Daryl mumbled. _

_After a few minutes, the lightness of the air dissipated and the impending farewell was heavy on both of their shoulders. Even though she fought it, Emma's eyelids grew heavy and she could sense that any second Daryl was going to announce his departure with those three words that for the first time, would not be true—"see ya t'morrow." _

_Before he could get those words out, Emma opened her mouth, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "You ever been kissed, Daryl?" She could feel him stiffen beside her and he glanced toward the door. "It's just a question."_

_He cut his eyes to her. "Yep."_

_She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "When?"_

"_I was eight an' Mary McCarthy stuck her damn tongue down ma throat in tha tree house."_

_Emma's jaw dropped and she sucked in a breath. "What? In my tree house? My tree house?! Where was I?"_

_Daryl grinned at her reaction. "Hell if I know… probably out tryin' ta track down a garter snake." Her eyes widened and the disgust was clear on her face. "It wasn't my fault so don't go all psycho-bitch on me."_

"_I thought she came over to my house because she liked my mom's cookies but she really came over because…" She trailed off because her drowsy thought process had finally caught up with reality. The two came together at the realization that it had been eight years since her tree house had been violated and nothing could be done at this point. "It's not really fair that Mary McCarthy got some action in the tree house but I didn't."_

"_If it makes ya feel better, I think Merle used it for extracurricular activities a time er two."_

_Emma groaned. "How do you suppose that would make me feel better?"_

_Daryl shrugged, hiding his grin behind his hand as he chewed on his thumbnail. After a few minutes of fingernail chewing and revolting images, Emma let out a deep sigh. "Would you do something for me?"_

_The grunt that Daryl released was low and typically meant "maybe". _

"_Would you…do you think that…" Emma stuttered and the bravado that she'd been building up nearly disintegrated until she saw Daryl look once more to the door. So, instead of asking or begging, she decided that acting would be much better understood. Moving quickly, she sat up on her knees and took ahold of Daryl's face with both hands. Before he could protest, she pressed her lips to his in such a way that would have shamed any decent southern woman. In fact, the heat of the moment mixed with her lack of knowledge in all things physical, she nearly bit her own tongue as she tried to shove it between the tight lips of Daryl Dixon._

"_Wmmart ma puck…" He tried desperately to question the intentions of his sixteen year old friend but Daryl discovered that it was nearly impossible to speak with a pair of lips pressed harshly against your own. Before he tried to talk a second time, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away, leaving her red-faced and pucker-mouthed. "What the fuck, woman!"_

_She opened her eyes and grinned at him, apparently not caring that her mother would be mortified at her forward, unladylike actions. "Tryin' to get my first kiss," she explained, rather calmly._

"_Ya couldn't just ask me?" he said, scrunching up his face._

_Emma quirked an eyebrow. "Would you have said 'yes'?" Licking his lips and squirming on the bed, he hesitated which meant that he would have turned her down flat. "See!"_

_Daryl clenched his jaw and a match was struck deep in his guts at her words. "A'right, fine! I'll fuckin' kiss ya!" _

_He grabbed her face roughly and pulled her lips to his once again. Then something strange happened in Emma's belly; it was terrifying and unusual and amazing all at the same time. As Daryl's unshaven chin brushed harshly against her own and his hot breath washed over her face, she felt something that she'd never felt for the redneck before: Lust. While Daryl was growing into a man and his features were getting sharp and virile, Emma had never really looked at him in that way. She'd never undressed him with her eyes or wondered what it would be like to feel him laying on top of her, between her legs with his lips on the sensitive pulse point at her neck. But now, as he inched closer and his hands found purchase on her hips, she questioned her sanity for the past couple years. _

_How had she never wanted this before? _

_Before she could stop herself, she twisted the fabric of his t-shirt in her hands and she pulled him toward her, on top of her, his torso between her thighs. He pulled away and tried to back up but she held tightly and looked up at him, hopefully sending him the right message with her eyes…don't go… please, don't go. For a moment, she thought he'd break the contact because no matter how tightly she held onto him, if he wanted to go, he could. The man would chew his own leg off to get out of a bear trap, if he had to. His blue eyes held hers for the briefest of moments, searching for something that she prayed he'd find. And then his lips were back, hard and needy; his body grinding against hers in the most delicious way._

_Their clothes came off in a flurry of tangled fingers and unconventional snickers; there was an awkward moment when Daryl grabbed onto Emma's breast and started kneading like bread dough. She let out a pained groan which Daryl mistook for pleasure so he did it again. In the heat of the moment, in an attempt to get his hand off of her sore breast, she reached down and grabbed ahold of the most sensitive part of Daryl. It did the trick. He forgot all about her body, closed his eyes and groaned—Emma thought it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen and heard. _

_She felt powerful and desirable and so damn grown up that she wedged the hard, hot piece of flesh she was holding onto between her own legs and held her breath. Before she could make eye contact, Daryl pushed into her and pain shot up into her abdomen, making the whole grown up thing seem not so great all of a sudden. Every muscle in her body tightened and she held her breath as he pushed into her again, his breath panting in her ear._

"_Ya okay?" he grunted. "I didn't…mean ta…"_

_Emma shushed him softly and pulled his face into the crook of her neck. The pain dwindled and was replaced with a full, needy feeling that made her chest feel light. Her fingernails dug into the soft skin of Daryl's shoulders, being careful not to scratch his injured back. As he finished inside of her, all she could think about was how imperfectly perfect this had been and how she wouldn't have wanted this with anyone else. As he lay on top of her, breathing against the bare skin of her shoulder, she smiled and whispered a "thank you" into the night quiet night._

_And then came Charlotte._

* * *

**_A/N: So, this was the last flashback for a while. I'm a little slutty when it comes to writing sexy scenes (and in real life too-haha!) but I didn't want to go into too much detail with this for some reason. What did ya'll think? Is it how you expected that Charlotte was conceived? Did anyone miss Merle? I know i did :)_**

**_On a side note, I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm OBSESSED with watching Mike Rooker interviews. I think I've seen every single one of them on Youtube. I love Norman, don't get me wrong but there's something about The Rook that makes me feel all tingly inside. So, question - does anyone have a favorite interview with him that I possibly haven't seen? PM me if you do so I can feed my addiction. Come on, you know you wanna be my enabler. If you haven't seen the NSFW videos, they are my favorite. Long and awesome, just like... oh, never mind. _**

**_Review! Please ! I BEG OF YOU! Have a good week, folks! :)_**


	9. Chapter Eight

_**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Thanks to anyone who is reading! I appreciate every kind word. :)**_

_**Here we get to see our first zombie. But it's a short chapter and since the next chapter is one of my favorites that I've written so far, I'm gonna post the next chapter fairly soon. Few days, tops. So enjoy the beginning of the ZA in my little world. **_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own it and never will. No infringement intended.**_

* * *

_**Chapter Eight ~**_

What started out as an undercover operation where he could keep his eye on his neighbor, turned into entertainment for Merle. It had been five months since he'd learned of the existence of her daughter—also Daryl's daughter—and she hadn't peeped a word of it to his brother. He was pleased and he had to admit, a bit surprised at her ability to keep the secret since he was positive that was the reason she'd moved back to Milledgeville in the first place. Merle had almost forgotten the reason why he started pestering the woman because it had become so much damn fun.

Unfortunately, for Emma, Merle's idea of fun was her idea of misery. It never failed that every time she'd come outside to practice with her bow, he'd be right there on her heels. He was such a familiar presence that Max didn't even react anymore when Merle would come wandering out of the trailer, shouting things that he knew would turn her face red.

This morning, she'd been out there for ten minutes and already, she wanted to strangle the bastard. He was feeling jovial for some reason and when Merle felt good, the insults were much more colorful.

"Whoo!" he yelped when her arrow missed the center of the target by at least half a foot. "Looks like somebody's off her game this mornin'!"

Emma had gotten much better since she'd first pulled her forgotten bow out of its case so many months ago but she still wasn't where she had been in college. But she loved the art form and the strength she'd developed was exciting; she loved the way the muscles in her shoulders and arms had started to tone. It brought back memories of when she was in college and how much stronger she felt from practicing archery every day. Sure, she had what her daughter had pegged as "man hands" due to the callous on her fingers but it didn't worry her much. Being ladylike was the least of her concerns at this point in her life.

"Don't you ever go to work?" The annoyed tone of her voice made the grin on his face grow from ear to ear. She looked down at her dog, who had gathered at the man's feet looking mighty comfortable. He had his eyes dreamily closed but that didn't stop her from giving him the stink eye. "Someone else to annoy the shit out of, perhaps?"

Merle snorted. "I go ta work when I wanna go ta work."

Emma raised her eyebrows as she snatched another arrow out of the case. "When Jerry Nowell needs another snort of cocaine?"

"Ya don't know what'cha talkin' about," Merle said, still grinning. "I'm a good, law-abidin' citizen, princess."

It was Emma's turn to snort. "How's your brother doin'? I haven't seen him stomping around in a few weeks."

Merle looked toward the trailer. "Been pullin' some overtime. Don't know why tha' boy feels like tha more he works, tha better life is gonna be 'cause it sure ain't never gonna change no matter how long he spends down at tha' junk yard."

Emma lined up her arrow and pulled back on the string, the muscles in her shoulders bunching and tensing deliciously. "Maybe he just wants to get away from you."

As she let go, Merle let out a bark of laughter. The arrow found its home in the dead center of the target. Emma grinned.

"Or mebbe he wants ta stay away from you!" Merle shouted, ignoring the fact that she'd just landed a perfect shot.

"I think I'm the more pleasant one out of the two of us," she argued.

"Yeah, but yer tha one tha' screwed tha kid an' then left like yer ass was on fire afterwards. I'd never even be tha' damn cruel." Emma shot him a skeptical glare and he winked at her. "Well, mebbe so but at least tha's what's expected outta me. You an' him were butt buddies back in tha day. I don't reckon he thought you'd abandon 'im. That's why I was pretty pissed when I saw it was you tha' moved back here."

Emma screwed up her face in confusion. "You were mad that I...I didn't really abandon him, you know. I was seventeen and I had no choice about moving."

Merle shrugged. "I don't really give a shit."

She rolled her eyes. "So, you were mad that I abandoned Daryl? That was why you were so upset that I moved back?"

The older man let out a disapproved grunt. "Hell no! I was pissed tha' until your ass moved away and left him alone, Daryl was the biggest pussy in tha entire state a Georgia." Absentmindedly, he reached down and ran his hand along the soft fur of the Belgian Malinois at his feet. Max sighed onto his paws and enjoyed the attention. "It took years ta turn tha' boy inta a man and I blame ya'll for it. I swear tha' boy cried when ya'll moved outta state. Damn shame."

"Your thought processes are seriously fucked up," Emma remarked.

Merle's response was his typical cackle. "What about you? You write me tha' story yet?"

Ever since Merle discovered that Emma was a writer, he had her pegged for being one of those erotica authors that some of his girlfriends liked to read. It was as far from the truth as one could get but when he saw how uncomfortable the suggestion made her, it only egged him on. So, when she'd start up a conversation that irked him, he'd bring up the "beaver book". Merle was insistent that she write this beaver book for him since he'd been such a good, welcoming neighbor to her since she moved back to Georgia. What he didn't know was that he had given her an idea to write a beaver book…just not like the one that he demanded that she write; the one she was actually working on would happen in a land far, far away where frogs turn into princes and pigs sprout wings. His idea of the beaver book "starred two pairs of long legs, four perfect tits and Merle Dixon". That would never happen on any paper in Emma's house no matter how vivid her imagination was.

"That story will never be written, Merle, so you can—" Emma was interrupted by the sound of Blake Shelton singing 'Honey Bee'.

Merle perked up like a hound catching the scent of a raccoon. "Tha hell is tha' shit?"

Emma set her bow down and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. "My phone, dumbass." Merle opened his mouth to throw an insult in her direction, most likely in regards to her choice of ringtone, but she answered her phone before he was given the opportunity. "Hello?"

"Emma, it's Frank."

"Oh, hey, Frank," Emma said, smiling and turning her back on Merle since his face was plastered with a sneer, "how are you?"

"Uh…not too great, sweetheart." She'd known her stepfather for ten years, nine of which he had been married to her mother; she'd never heard him sound so distressed. Not even when her mother was arrested for indecent exposure—but that's another story.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't…don't get all riled up because I promised her that I wouldn't call you but I really think you should know how bad it is."

Emma's heart skipped a beat and for some unknown reason, turned around in search of a supportive glance from the man standing behind her. What she got instead was the retreating form of that man heading back toward his trailer with her unfaithful canine at his side. _Damn dog._

"What's going on, Frank? Is Mom okay? It's her heart, isn't it? I told her that she should have retired years ago. I knew that—"

"Emma honey, calm down, it's not a heart attack. It's some sort of flu. She has a real high fever and she's…she's a little delirious." Frank sighed and Emma allowed him a moment to compose his thoughts. Meanwhile, a million questions danced on the tip of her tongue. "She'll be fine but I just wanted to let you know."

"A flu? In the middle of April?"

Frank grunted out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, that's what I said but it's all over the place down here. They think it's like that Avian disease they were all worried about a few years back and they can't find a way to stop it. They just have to treat the symptoms and…and hope for the best."

Emma sucked in a deep breath. "I'll start packing right now. I can be there by tomorrow afternoon."

"No, no, no, Emma," he breathed. "We're going to be fine down here. All they have to do is get your mom out into the sunshine, put a margarita in her hand and the latest Nora Roberts and she'll perk up in no time. Plus, she'd kill me if you showed up here to check on her. I just thought you should know…"

"If she's delirious, she won't even know that I'm there."

Frank snorted. "You know that even when that woman's mind is spinning, she's angling on proving someone wrong."

The tone of his voice reflected the love that Frank had for Emma's mother but it was laced with concern which made her feel uneasy about staying put. "If you're sure…"

"Positive, Emma. I just wanted to make you aware of what was going on."

"Thanks, Frank."

"Promise me that you won't come down."

Emma sighed. "Only if you promise to call with any changes and I mean _any_ changes, good or bad."

"It's a deal, sweet heart."

Emma hung up her phone and looked back in the direction where Merle had led her dog, hoping that he wouldn't feed him any of that canned chili like he'd fed him the past week when he'd wandered over to their trailer. That damn dog had the runs for a week and it was all Merle Dixon's fault. She sighed when she saw no sign of the man but her dog was lying outside the trailer door like he'd been promised something tasty if he stayed put. She called out for him and reluctantly—after one fleeting glance at the trailer door—he got up and trotted toward her.

"You, traitor," Emma grumbled to him as he followed in step beside her. "Why in the hell would you abandon your post so you could follow…Merle?" Max had the decency to appear slightly ashamed as his ears flattened against his head and his eyes followed the movement of her feet on the grass. "I'm not going to forgive you so easily for this one, sir. If it was someone semi-likable, I'd sorta understand but that dude is messed up in the head. Plus, he's on crack and that's whack." Emma giggled to herself but apparently Max hadn't seen the infamous Whitney Houston interview from years back because he gave no indication that the mood between them was any lighter. Eyes down and ears flat. Emma grunted, "Fine, be that way."

For the rest of the day, Emma tried to work on her next book but her mind kept going to her mom's well-being. By the evening, she was working on tearing off her last fingernail with her teeth and a path was beginning to form on the rug in front of her fireplace. After one last pace, she finally grabbed up her phone and punched in Frank's cell phone number. There was no answer so she tried again. No luck. Certain that he'd answer a third time, she punched in the numbers again and sighed as his jubilant voice came over voicemail. For the first time since she'd met him, she wanted to punch him in the face because he was always so damn happy. Now was not the time for perky voice messages and calm, reassuring voices; what Emma needed now was an update on her fucking mother!

"Dammit!" Emma grumbled as she plopped down on the couch. As she sat torn between repeatedly calling Frank and hanging up and leaving a voice mail, Blake Shelton decided for her as her own phone lit up. Without even noticing the phone number that was calling, her answer was panicked. "Yeah?"

The caller hesitated. "Mom?"

Emma sighed and closed her eyes. "Hey, Char," she said, the anxiety in the pit of her stomach growing by the second. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she squeaked. "What's wrong with you?"

There was no use keeping it from her daughter since she could be read like a book anyway, even over the phone. "Grandma is sick."

"Like snotty nose sick or really sick?"

The last remaining fingernail on Emma's hand was a goner as she struggled with how much to tell her daughter. Tears filled her eyes as she pictured her Mom, so brave when her father died; laughing when a miniature Charlotte would say something hilarious. "Frank took her to the ER today."

"Oh my God! Is she okay?"

Emma shrugged, even though there was nobody in her presence that could see it except a snoring traitorous dog. "I'm waiting to hear back from them."

"Are you going to head down there?"

"Frank told me to stay put but…" Emma stood up and began pacing again. "I think I'm going to head down there tomorrow morning. You up for a trip? I could swing by and pick you up."

Charlotte was silent, hesitating.

"You don't have to go, Char."

"It's just…I have finals next week and I really want to ace them. I'll feel like crap though, if I don't go down with you. What if…what if Gram…"

Emma's snort was watery. "That tough old woman is going to be fine. I'm sure it's just a bad flu and she'll be out of there in a couple of days. You stay there and study because Gram would be pissed to find out that you're missing out on quality study time to visit her when she's sick."

"If she's going to be fine, then why are you going down?"

Emma sputtered out a noise of which the meaning was lost, even on her. "You know…too much time and not enough to do."

"Yeah, right," Charlotte grumbled. "You're probably scrambling to catch up so you meet your deadline. Have you talked to Ted lately? I'm sure he'd just love the idea of you taking a trip to Florida when you have a book to finish."

Ted was Emma's exhausting and paranoid agent who hated the idea of her moving so far away from Chicago since he couldn't hassle her in person. It was true that she was a procrastinator by nature but she always had shit done at deadline time. However, the procrastination made Ted quite the annoying little bugger and she'd ignored several of his calls the past week since she was quite a bit behind in the writing process.

"He'll get over it. I can take my laptop and sketch pad with me, can't I?"

Charlotte sighed. "If you're sure…"

"Positive. Stay there and ace those finals so we can celebrate by giving you your first taste of Southern Comfort," Emma said with a huge grin but that faded fast when Charlotte's response was silence. "Good lord. At least tell me that you were in college when you got your first sip." Silence. "Christ, I don't want to know."

Emma disconnected the phone after reassuring Charlotte, yet again, that her presence in Florida wouldn't be necessary. However, being the impulsive risk-taker that her daughter was, she'd probably show up on her own anyhow by hitchhiking or catching a ride with a friend. Emma shuddered at the thought of the eighteen year old, showing some leg and sticking her thumb out at dirty truck drivers in order to get to Florida to see her sick Grandmother. After careful contemplation of whether to call the girl back, she decided that she had to learn to trust her at some point. Even if she did drink whiskey in high school…Good God. She'd have to call her back.

Before she was able to get her fingers to work on the buttons on her phone, she heard a loud bang coming from the side of her house. Letting out a yelp, she jumped to her feet and stared out the front window from her spot in front of the couch. This hadn't been just a normal knock; this was the sound of something hitting the side of her house with force. Max stood beside her, cocking his head in the direction of the bang and his ears perked.

"It was probably a damn bird," she explained. "Or some animal…"

Another loud bang interrupted her spoken thoughts, followed by what sounded like a low moan. Emma's heart stampeded in her chest and her hands began to shake as she struggled to remember to breath. Max trotted to the front door, a low rumble coming from the deep cavity of his chest.

There was a familiarity to the fear cascading through her bones. She'd been afraid many times of the things that go bang in the night but she was a different person now. Stronger. Smarter. Long ago, she'd made a promise to herself that she wouldn't cower in the face of fear ever again. There would never be another time when she'd hide in her closet, shaking and clutching onto her daughter as the sound of determined, well-known footsteps stomped on the floors of her home, searching for her. She'd been lucky. But she'd also been a coward—choosing to be afraid instead of fight back. If she'd fought back, she wouldn't be so afraid in this very moment. Or she could have been six feet under.

Was it a possibility that he'd found her? Could it be that same monster scaring her now that had terrified her so many years ago? No. It couldn't be. Could it?

Taking a deep breath, she found her balance before she walked quietly over to the window to peek outside. The sun was setting behind the trees and the red glow gave her yard an eerie horror movie-like ambiance. Slowly, she took in the bushes that lined the side of her house, the big oak in her front yard and her big plastic garbage bins that had fallen over at some point during the day. She let out a heavy sigh of relief when she saw her garbage scattered on the ground and the remains of some old meat packages she'd thrown away a few days before because the meat had expired before she'd been able to use it.

"It was just some wild animal getting into our garbage, Max." She laughed under her breath, releasing some of her nervous energy. "They'll have a tummy ache tomorrow, that's for—"

It happened fast. The front door to her house burst open, the wood banged hard against the wall from the impact. Max growled and bared his large, white canine teeth to the monster in the doorway. It seemed to growl back as it eyed the dog with a disgusting sort of hunger and demand. There was a torn piece of flesh hanging from its neck, dangling there and rotting like it had been there for days. And oh God, the smell…the smell filled Emma's living room like a rank fog; three day old road kill that had been heated by a hot Georgia sun didn't smell this bad. Its skin was grey. Its eyes, cold and unresponsive. Emma could tell the moment it cast its glance on her that it wanted her dead.

Just before Emma let out a blood curdling scream, she recognized the decaying monster as her neighbor, Clark Hudson.

* * *

_**A/N: I know, it was a little short and you only got a peek at our first zombie but what can I say? I'm a tease. :) Do you think Emma will travel to Florida to see her mom? Do you think she's going to get bit by her neighbor? Do you think Merle is just a little too hunky for his own good, being all annoying and harrassing? Isn't Daryl just too cute with his overtime working to avoid any sort of contact with Emma? Well, let me know, ya'll! Thanks for reading and with the next chapter, you'll get "A day in the life of Merle"!**_

_**I know this is laughable. Really, it is but I'm doing this for you as a reader - If you are not reading "Weeds" by Brazen Hussy, go do it. It is fantastic and funny and it makes me wanna do naughty things to Merle. If you're not reading it, do yourself a favor and do it. Do not pass go. Do not fetch a snack (unless it's chocolate then by all means...) and do not hesitate. You won't regret. :)**_

_**Have a good weekend, ya'll! **_


	10. Chapter Nine

_**A/N: So, this is my favorite chapter yet. Am I allowed to have a favorite chapter since I wrote the shit? I'm making a judgement call and saying YES. Yes I can. Anyways, this is "A day in the life of Merle" and I hope you enjoy it. It's tough for me to write a man's POV (no matter who the character) for some reason, so if you like it and you think it was good, leave me a review! If you didn't like it, just skip that whole review thing because I'm all sensitive and stuff.**_

_**Also, there are a few racial slurs in this because it is coming from Merle. Just a warning!**_

_**Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited... I love you guys! Awesome. Just...awesome.**_

_**So, here you go!**_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own TWD. No infringement intended.**_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"Where tha hell'd ya stalk off ta?" Merle barked as he watched his brother come out from behind the trailer. "Ya off pickin' flowers again?"

"I was clearin' out the huntin' trail," Daryl snapped. "An' for the hundredth time, I wasn't pickin' no fuckin' flowers! They were mushrooms, dammit!"

Merle cackled at how easily it was to get Daryl goin' as he plopped down on the lawn chair in front of the fire pit. "Why don't ya get a fire started, boy? I'm startin' get a lil' chilly out here."

Daryl snorted. "Start yer own damn fire, ol' man"

A smile crept onto Merle's lips as Daryl spat out the words but his hands started doing the labor of building a fire at Merle's request. Once a pussy; always a pussy—that should have been tattooed on his brother's forehead since that seemed to be the golden rule in Daryl's life. It used to bother Merle and he'd try his damndest to reach up into his brother's crotch, find his balls and yank 'em out for all to see. But each time he'd reach up there, all he'd find were these small little quivering marbles. Daryl was a far cry from the type of man he was twenty years ago—with no doubt, due to Merle's help—but he still was a fraction of the species that a Dixon man should be.

At that depressing thought, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his baggie of pills. Sorting through them with dirty fingers, he let out a noise when he found the joint he'd rolled earlier that day. He pulled it out of the bag and laid it carefully on his lap, like it was the most precious thing on the face of the planet. Daintily, he held the baggie out in front of him and shook it, frowning at his dwindling stock before tucking it back into his jean vest pocket. After he lit the joint, he took a long deep puff and held it in his lungs, thinking about how much life would suck without this shit. When he exhaled, he caught Daryl's eye and held the sloppily rolled joint out to his brother. "Go ahead," he suggested. "It'll put some hair on yer chest."

Daryl shook his head and continued his task with the fire pit. Merle didn't take offense to the rejection because the less he shared, the more for him. That reminded him…

"I gotta borrow the truck and go into town." When Daryl looked at him questioningly, Merle explained, "business meetin'."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Keys'r on tha table."

While it was true that Merle gave Daryl a hard time and it would seem to an outsider that Merle was cruel or dispassionate but the truth was that he loved his brother. Merle would do anything for Daryl and he felt that he'd proved that fact in the past. And the same went for the other brother which gave Merle a sorta cushion to fall back on. No matter what despicable or ornery things he did, Daryl was always there to help him through it. That was what brothers were for. They didn't need anything or anyone else in this world as long as they had each other.

"The hell ya clearin' out the huntin' path for this early? It'll overgrow again here in a week er so," Merle pointed out.

Daryl cut his eyes up to his brother. "Somebody's got to since yer over there, tryin' to fuck the neighbor all tha damn time."

Merle whooped and sat forward. "Sounds like somebody's jealous."

The younger Dixon made a noise. "Hell nah, I ain't." He stood back and watched the fire he'd built slowly take over the small twigs and leaves in the pit. "I jus' think it's kinda funny how yer the one tha' tol' me ta stay tha fuck away from her and tha' she's trouble but there ya are, over there every damn day!"

There was never anything about the girl that sparked Merle's interest when they were young. Especially, not the kind of interest that Daryl had taken in her. She was skinny as a child with these fuckin' pigtails that swung as she ran; Merle had given those pigtails a good yank a time or two but she'd fought right back. The young girl had been stubborn and fearless and full of piss and vinegar. When he was released from The Marines, he had hoped to find that his little brother had distanced himself from her while he was away but he'd gotten even closer. One night, he'd seen Daryl climbing up that big ol' Oak tree and up to that balcony on the second floor so he could sneak into her room. It was about the only thing he could find to be proud of when it came to sixteen year old Daryl—at least the boy was gettin' some pussy.

Merle wasn't sure what it was about his new neighbor now that made him so fascinated. The bitch was weird and clumsy and really fuckin' chatty but there was something entertaining about her. She liked to argue and Merle never turned down an argument, no matter how weak the opponent. There was also the fact that she bent over a lot to fetch the arrows that she shot in every which direction and that woman, stupid bitch or not, had a fine ass. Merle was sure of it that he was wearin' her down and eventually, someday, he'd get a piece of it. Kid or no kid, she had a body on her and he was excited about taking it out for a sit n'spin.

Speaking of the kid, Merle had been worried because the only thing women knew how to do was gab. And as soon as he knew about that pretty lil' blonde, he knew the reason for that woman comin' back to Georgia was to spin his brother's world out of control. If Daryl found out that he had kin, fuck knows where his head would go—probably into that sensitive, female place where his nuts hide most of the time. Merle has worked hard to turn Daryl into some semblance of a man and that kid would take all that hard work and flush it down the shitter.

Thing was, Merle couldn't figure out what she'd get out of it if she did tell him. Daryl wasn't some rich motherfucker who she could bust for child support back-pay or some shit. He didn't have any fatherly wisdom to bestow upon the girl; hell, he'd most likely have an aneurism just trying to have a conversation with her. The only conclusion that Merle could come up with was that the girl needed some sort of organ transplant or bone marrow exchange or whatever and Daryl was her last hope. No, he wouldn't let his lil' brother get mixed up in savin' some girl's life that he barely donated the sperm for.

Fuck that kid. She might be kin but still… fuck her.

Merle turned to his brother gave him that typical shit-eating grin. "I'll know how hard she sucks by the enda the week." Daryl rolled his eyes and feigned disinterest but Merle could see the way his jaw tightened and his hands formed little fists. "Awww…you getting' all teeny bopper cute on me, Darylina? Gonna defend yer lil' girlfriend?" Merle cackled before adding, "She won't be thinkin' 'bout you at all when she's down on her knees an'—"

Once every blue moon, Daryl surprised Merle and this was one of those times. Daryl's fist connected with Merle's chin with a crack. Merle saw stars for a moment—mostly due to the fact that he wasn't expectin' the punch—but as soon as he recovered, he was on Daryl like a chink on rice. They rolled on the ground, getting' punches in wherever they could; blood covered both men's knuckles and Merle laughed heartily as he laid a deep punch to Daryl's sternum. Daryl rolled off of him with an "oof!" but Merle didn't relent. It was one thing that he knew firsthand about this shitty life on earth is that when you're down and feeling like dirt, nobody…NOBODY is gonna let ya take a breather. When you feel like shit, no doubt somethin' is gonna happen to make you feel even shittier. With that in mind—along with the knowledge that he'd beaten that fact of life into Daryl's brain his entire life—he rolled toward his brother and quickly jabbed Daryl in the crotch with his kneecap. Merle had to grin at the squealish groan that came from the man lying next to him; like a baby pig stuck in the mud.

"Fuck, boy," Merle said as he tried to catch his breath. "I think you cracked ma fuckin' molar."

"Good," Daryl groaned. "I prob'ly won't ever see ma left nut again."

Half an hour later, Merle was pulling through the drive thru of the Dairy Queen in the small town of Milledgeville and ordering himself a strawberry shake. He made damn sure to wink at the hefty counter girl so she'd put a spoonful of whipped cream on top, along with a cherry which normally cost extra. Merle's motto when it came to women was that the Dixon charm, when used in the proper manner, was irresistible so the cherry on top his milkshake was no surprise.

"Damn straight," he mumbled to himself as he popped the cherry in his mouth and headed for Hank's Bar.

Hank Thompson, who owned the bar, and Merle had themselves an understanding. Merle could conduct his business at Hank's as long as he kept the violence out of sight of the patrons. Merle got a safe place to liaison with his clients and Hank got the cash flow from Merle's patrons because typically, they drank a lot before they got the nerve to approach Merle about a purchase. In other words, Merle was not approachable unless you were piss-poor drunk and Merle tended to take advantage of those without a clear mindset. He'd end up walking out of Hank's with a big grin and an extra fifty bucks because some idiot couldn't think straight enough to conduct a good business deal. And Merle didn't feel one iota bad about it.

But this visit to Hank's was for a purpose. This wasn't just a normal deal to some retarded college student out for an experience or one of his normal junkie clients. Merle was on a reconnaissance mission to find Willie…Willie whatever-the-fuck was his last name. Willie whatever-the-fuck owed Merle some money and it'd be a cold day in hell when Merle would let that slide. Plus, he needed some Lady Snow and there was a dude from Atlanta that frequented Hank's on occasion that usually brought some extra with him to make a quick buck. Merle didn't trust the guy but he'd bought from him before and it was some good shit. Lady Snow was about the only lady that had ever held a piece of Merle's heart because she was always there when he needed her, the bitch always made him feel real nice and she never felt the need to chat after he got fucked.

The heavy door creaked as he opened it and closed it behind him, his tongue sweeping the remnants of his delicious strawberry shake off his bottom lip. His eyes narrowed as he took in the patrons, hoping to come across at least one of the guys he was looking for but he came up with nothin'. The place was nearly empty which was unusual for a Saturday night, especially since this was the place to be if you were a loser and the town of Milledgeville was stock full of fuckin' losers.

"Hey, Hank!" Merle obnoxiously yelled as he sat down at the bar. Hank, whom was short, bald and pudgy, answered with a curt, unfriendly nod in order to remind Merle that this was strictly a business relationship. Merle didn't forget that shit, the idiot. "Ya seen Willie?" Hank frowned and shook his head, pretending to scrub an empty spot at the bar with a rag. Merle narrowed his eyes. Even though he didn't know Hank all that well, he could pick up on a lie like a Nigger grows an afro. Really fucking well. But for now, he'd let that shit go however, he'd keep his instincts turned up and his eyes open. "Wha' 'bout Jack Kingsley? Ya seen him aroun'?"

This time Hank looked him in the eye. "The fella from Atlanta?"

"Yeah, the pervert with the lazy eye," Merle replied, honestly. It was true. The guy had two strikes against him for child pornography being found on his computer at his workplace. That wasn't the weird part. The weirdest thing about it was how accessible the guy was about his pervert-ness. All it took was two beers and the guy was an open book, much to Merle's dismay. All he wanted to do was buy some Coke from the guy but he kept on babbling on and on about his favorite internet sites and shit… like a fuckin' woman.

Hank shook his head. "Nah. Heard he got busted again for that kiddie porn shit."

Merle palmed the counter hard. "Well, fuck!"

That earned him a narrowed eyed look from Hank, a silent reminder to keep his shit calm. Merle flipped him the bird in response which sent the bartender back to scrubbin' that same damn spot on the counter.

Shit out of luck, Merle twisted in his seat and eyed the other people sittin' around the bar. There was a couple of heavy set women in the back—which Merle took stock of in case he didn't get his money or his Lady Snow; no since comin' into town for no reason. At least he could get some pussy while he was here. He smiled big at the brunette and she giggled to herself and whispered something to the redhead beside her. Visions of a soft, fleshy threesome filled his mind and he was just about to get up and seduce them with the Dixon charm when wouldn't you know it…Willie whatever-the-fuck strutted out of the back like he'd just got sucked off by Pamela Anderson, herself. His swagger was bouncy and cocky; his one-sided smirk full of confidence and his loose pants were fallin' down, revealing a good three inches of red plaid boxers. He was cool, calm and collected until his eyes met Merle's… then, he just about shit himself.

"Take it in the back, Merle," Hank warned.

Merle stood up straight and tall, his biceps flexing and his chest puffed out as he watched Willie's eyes widen and his smirk turn into an open-mouthed silent scream.

"Don't ya run, ya lil' fucker," Merle advised as he walked toward him. Willie whined and almost collapsed as Merle grabbed the back of his shirt. "Let's have ourselves a lil' chat, shall we?"

Merle pushed the young kid toward the back of the bar and into one of the bathrooms, which happened to be the women's. There was someone in a stall and they yelped when they heard the two male voices. Slowly, a clownish middle-aged woman, who had slathered a shitload makeup on her face in an effort to look twenty, peeked out of the middle stall.

"Get the fuck outta here, bitch!" Merle hissed.

She made a small howling noise as she swept past them, her jeans still unbuttoned and a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her cowboy boot. Merle nearly blew it and cackled to himself but when it came down to a business deal, Merle was nothing but professional so before he could even grin, he popped little Willie whatever-the-fuck in the nose. Now, he allowed himself to grin because that sickening crunch of cartilage moving unnaturally against bone was delightful.

"Damn, Merle! The fuck ya do that for?" Willie complained, his hand covering his nose. Blood gushed out from between his fingers and his eyes got all squinty as he looked at him.

"Ya got ma money?"

Willie hesitated long enough to inform Merle that he did not, in fact, have his money. Merle raised his fist again, preparing to pop the young man in the nose again.

Willie held up his hand in an effort to block the impending punch. "Wait! Wait! I got somethin' else that ya might be interested in, man!" The older man pulled back his arm even further in warning. "No! Please! I got some Monster, dude!"

Merle cocked his head and lowered his fist. Well, this adventure into town might work out in his favor after all. Now, all he needed was those robust women in the lounge to go down on him at the same time and this would turn out to be a pretty good fuckin' day. "How much?"

"Oh! I wouldn't charge ya dude!" Willie smiled at this, his teeth looking pink from the blood seeping out of his nose and into his mouth.

"Don't fuckin' call me 'dude' and no shit, it's free, ya dipshit!" Merle slammed his fist on the bathroom sink for effect. "I'm askin' how much ya got!"

The young boy looked away and swayed from foot to foot. Merle knew before he opened his mouth that it was gonna be a lie so he hauled his fist back and then forward into the kid's stomach. Willie fell to the pissed-on floor like the sack of shit that he was; his knees hit the linoleum with a loud thud. "Ya wanna revise your answer to the fuckin' truth, boy?"

"I…didn't…even…say anything," he wheezed as he grabbed his stomach and rolled a little.

"The truth, ya lil' shit!" Merle could be quite convincing when his girl, Lady Snow was on the line. "Ya got one more chance! How much ya got!"

"Okay! Okay!" Willie righted himself, still clutching his injured stomach and the blood flowing freely from his swollen nostrils. With a defeated look on his face, he mumbled, "I got a QP."

Merle's face lit up like it was Christmas. "Well, now, that's somethin' ya can use as a bargainin' chip, son! Why didn't ya say so in tha first place?"

Willie's eyes pleaded with the older redneck. "Dude, I can't jus' give that to ya! I need to—"

Merle cut him off with a bitch slap across the face. "I already done asked ya nicely ta not fuckin' call me 'dude' and I don't give a fuck who the 'Peter' is in this situation. Gimme the QP or ol' Merle is gonna make it so your pansy ass can't walk for a fuckin' week!"

And wouldn't you know it, Willie started sobbing.

* * *

Merle drove home satisfied in more ways than one since those two fleshy broads at Hank's were more eager than a beaver to help him mark this day off as a good one. The sun was starting to set and he had a quarter pound of cocaine stuffed under the seat in a neat little paper bag. When he pulled into his driveway, he saw someone straggling across princess's lawn toward her trash bins. Merle slowed down and watched the idiot run right into the things, knocking them over as he collapsed on the ground next to them. Not much surprised Merle these days but when the fucker started goin' through the garbage and stuffin' it into his mouth, he had to admit that it was one of those well-I'll-be-damned moments.

Never the less, Merle didn't have time to sit and ponder why stupid people do stupid shit all the time so he pushed on the gas and continued up the driveway toward the trailer. Daryl was slumped down in the lawn chair in front of the fire pit, the bruise on his cheek bone visible even in the red glow of the setting sun. He was poking the fire with a long stick and lookin' like someone had just drowned his favorite puppy.

"It was a successful day, lil' brother," Merle announced as he sat down in the chair next to him.

"Good fer you," Daryl grumbled.

"Oh, you ain't still sour about earlier, are ya?"

Daryl cut his eyes to his older brother. "Fuck no," he lied, "just hungry, is all."

Merle shot his brother a grin full of teeth. "Well, why don't ya tie on yer pink apron, do up yer hair real nice and make me a sandwich, Darylina?"

"Fuck you," Daryl mumbled. "I was hopin' you woulda picked me up somethin' at Dairy Queen."

"Dairy Queen sucks," Merle spat, his tongue subconsciously sweeping over his lower lip in search of strawberry evidence. "'Sides, don't we have some—"

Merle was just about to describe the leftover 'coon that they'd caught a couple of nights ago when a horrified scream rang out from their neighbor's house. Daryl stood up and Merle leaned back, unfazed by the sound.

"The fuck was tha'?" Daryl said.

The older man shrugged. "The dumb bitch prob'ly seen a mouse or somethin' equally terrifyin'. Sit yer ass down and don't pretend that ya fuckin' care."

Daryl swayed from foot to foot for a moment. Merle found the internal fight going on in his brother's head pretty damn hilarious. If Merle wasn't there, Daryl would have been halfway to that house by now to play superhero; but since he was a pussy and refused to go against his big brother, he did as he was instructed and sat his ass back down.

A few seconds of silence went by and Merle was just about to bring up the 'coon again when that fuckin' ugly mutt started barking like its ass was ablaze. Then the sound of glass shattering echoed off the trees surrounding the house.

"That's one hell of a mouse, ain't it?" Merle laughed.

Daryl stood up and this time, he started walking.

"Where tha fuck ya goin?" Merle asked, rising up out of his own seat. "Ain't nothin' goin on there 'cept—" Then the memory of seeing that fucker eatin' trash circulated through Merle's mind. "Well, there was this dipshit eatin' trash… but I'm sure she's fine!"

At this point, Daryl was sprinting toward their neighbor's house. Merle cursed aloud because even though he knew that Daryl could handle himself against a trash-eating mental case, he still had to back him up. But hell if he was sprinting. They'd be lucky if he fuckin' walked fast.

His brother disappeared around the corner of the house and the few seconds of silence made Merle slow his pace until he heard Daryl call out his name. And every memory of their childhood together rushed back to him; every time when they were little and he'd show up in time to see their Daddy beatin' the shit out of a boney little Daryl, swelled up in his memory. Merle had never been nurturing to his little brother but for some reason, Daryl would always turn to the older boy for comfort when things got really bad. There was something, a fucked up bond, that formed between the two men from the time they were little—and physically flattened by the same asshole on a daily basis—that was stronger than anything else on the planet. In other words, when Daryl called, Merle had no choice but to answer. So Merle's promise to keep his pace at a brisk walk was stomped the minute he heard Daryl call out for help.

"Jesus Fuck!" Merle yelled when he finally got to the open door of the house. The crazy mutt was tearing apart the trash-eater's calves as they went in circles like a cat chasing its own fuckin' tail. The trash-eater looked like he wanted to take a bite out of the dog's ass and the dog was literally tearing into the muscles of the thing's legs like melted butter. Princess was on her hands and knees in the corner of the living room screaming for her dog to get away from the thing; blood oozed from a cut on her arm and a bruise was forming on her cheek. "What tha fuck is that?!"

Daryl came out of nowhere with a metal fire poker and stabbed the thing through the chest with it. All three of them stared at it and held their breath, waiting for it to fall but it only seemed to fire it up. Merle met his brother's panicked eyes and Merle tried to convey the message that they need to just get the fuck out of there but Daryl wasn't having it.

"I've got an axe!" The woman yelled from her corner. "It's in the hall closet!"

Merle slid past the circling dog/trash-eater combo, past his brother and to the hall closet where he found the axe. It was newer and cheap but it would have to do the job.

"Ya better git yer mutt outta the way, lady!"

"Max! Come!" She seemed to shake herself and then stood shakily on her feet. "Fuss!"

The dog snapped up and ran quickly to his master's side with his eyes staying on the monster in the room. The thing slowly followed, having troubles getting there since most of its legs were in chunks on the floor thanks to the dog. The hunk of flesh hanging from its neck finally gave way and fell onto the couch beside where Emma was standing and she winced. Its teeth were gnashing, clicking every time its jaw hinged closed, reminding Merle of a Piranha that he'd seen in Brazil for the short time that he was a Marine. Emma clutched onto Max's collar with her hand, holding him back and gave Merle a what-the-fuck-are-you-waiting-for look. He managed a wink before pulling the axe back and chopping it square in the neck. The bitch in the corner screamed as the trash-eater's head disconnected with its body, flew across the room and into the ash of the fire place. The body hit the floor with a loud thud and what followed was sweet, shocked silence.

Merle was just about to say something crudely sarcastic when they heard the familiar sound of clicking teeth and hungry groans.

"No fuckin' way," Daryl said from across the room.

Merle walked over the fallen body and over to the fireplace. Emma whimpered from her corner and Max started with the growling again. Using his boot, he turned the head like a soccer ball and cursed when the dismembered head continued its craving by desperately trying to bite at his boot with its teeth.

"The fuckin' thing wants ta…eat me," Merle mumbled.

"I think the stranger part of this whole ordeal is that you cut its head off and it's still alive," Emma pointed out.

"That too," Merle said as he bent down and tilted his chin sideways to get a closer look at the head. "It's kinda cute!" Merle gave them both a toothy grin. "We could keep it as a pet and feed it small children when it's good!" Emma groaned and Daryl shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "What? Ain't nobody got a sensa humor no more?"

"Jus' put the axe inta its brain, Merle," Daryl said, sounding exhausted even though—if you asked Merle—he really hadn't done much since galloping over here like a loon. "See if tha' kills it."

Merle sighed and said to the trash-eater's head. "I wanted ta keep ya but the party poopers say 'no' so sorry 'bout this lil' buddy."

Then he raised the axe and stuck it firmly into the monster's skull, thus ending its second life, once and for all.

* * *

**_A/N: So...what did you think? I'm dying to know. What was your favorite part? What do you think of Merle? Do you love him? Just a little? Or a lot? _**

**_On a side note, I'm two days away from Horrorhound, which happens to take place very close to where I live. It's not normal how excited I am about meeting Rooker and Reedus. But, I can't update until I finish writing chapter 13 which I haven't even started on. I do, however, know exactly what I need to write which makes it easier. Reviews make me write faster...just sayin'. :)_**

**_Thank you for reading, reviewing and just noticing! 3 Have a great weekend, everyone!_**


	11. Chapter Ten

_**A/N: I'm flipping off AMC right now. That's all I'm gonna say about that.**_

_**Shoutouts!**_

_**astainintime: You're so right. Merle should have just told them to fuck off and kept the little guy as a pet. Merle deserves a zombie head pet, don't you think? I'm glad you like Merle! Thanks for reviewing!**_

_**BlackRose851: Thank you!  
**_

_**arrelmai: Thank you! Glad you liked it!**_

_**Brazen Hussy: Oh, what I wouldn't give to have that job of making sure that Merle got allll the head that he deserves. :) Thanks for reading/reviewing!**_

_**m0nalisa0ldalie88: Gah! Thank you! Your words are too kind! If you ever get a chance to meet one of the cast members, its so worth it. SOOOO worth it. I had a blast and I've been depressed all week because its over...lol. Thank you!**_

_**Lilone1776: Holy Review! Thank you! I always thought that the Dixons fit in perfectly right smack dab in the middle of a ZA. I'm so glad that you find my story amusing and that you thought I did a good job on Merle. :) Thank you!**_

_**TearsOfTheForgotten: You'll get to see more walkers in this chapter! :) Hope you like! Thank yooooou!**_

_**middlekertz: I'm not going to give anything away but I knew from the beginning who Emma is going to end up with. That will become obvious about halfway through. :) Hope you stick with me! Thank yoooooou!**_

_**Disclaimer: So mad at AMC that I might intend to infringe their ass this chapter but I don't need the legal troubles. Bitches.**_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Merle threw the axe down onto the floor and the only description that Emma could think of when describing the stuff that flew off of it, as it impacted with the hard wood, was "goop". The black goop oozed from the head of the thing that had broken into Emma's house and tried to…attack her. Its eyeball was hanging out of its socket by a thread of flesh and it looked eerily too human.

And that freaked her the fuck out.

"Oh my God…Oh my God…Oh my…" She chanted, ignoring the pain in her palm as she continued to clutch onto Max's collar. "We just…we just killed someone."

"Jesus, lady, ya don't hafta act all crazy over this, do ya?" Merle asked, not attempting to hide his annoyance. "The fucker was tryin' ta kill ya!"

Daryl started pacing. "How does somethin' like tha' happen? Ya cut its head off, Merle." He ran his fingers through his dark blonde hair and started pacing a little bit faster. Merle rolled his eyes and his shoulders slumped. "I mean, you cut its fuckin' head off and it kept—"

"I know, I was here, ya idiot! I saw it!"

"Then…" Daryl hesitated, trying to pull himself together with a deep breath. "What tha fuck was tha'?"

"Clark Hudson," Emma answered, taking a deep breath to keep the vomit rising up in her gullet at bay. "He's one half of the older couple that lives a couple miles down the road."

"Ya sure?" Merle asked. "I didn't recognize 'em."

Emma nodded and let go of Max but commanded him to stay by her side. Fighting his instinct to investigate, he obliged but as soon as she put her attention elsewhere, he was certain to head straight for the body. _Oh God… the body!_

"We killed him," Emma whispered harshly. "He was obviously sick and we…"

"You ain't thinkin' straight," Merle said, pointing a finger at her. "And you—" He pointed a finger from his other hand at his brother, "—git your head outta yer ass an' cowboy up."

"This is fuckin' crazy, Merle," Daryl said, as he absentmindedly put his hand on the hunting knife hanging from his belt.

"Ya got a TV, right?" Merle asked Emma. She shook her head. "Shit. Why ain't ya got a TV?"

She shrugged. "Hadn't gotten around to it, I guess."

"Well, ya been livin' here for like a year! At least we got an excuse why we ain't got no TV, with the lack of funds and all. What's yer excuse? Why ain't you got a goddamn TV?"

Emma put her hands on her hips and for a moment, she forgot that there was a headless body on the floor between them. "I have not been here for a year and it's my right not to own a TV."

"Well, maybe if ya owned a TV like normal folks, we woulda known what kinda situation we was in before we had ta kill a man ta get outta it!" He pointed to Clark's head in the fireplace. "It's yer own fault that guy got an axe ta tha head, ya stupid bitch!"

Emma sucked in a breath. The stench invaded her lungs and reminded her of exactly what they were arguing about. "Ugh. You're nowhere close to being right. I think that…Clark was dead before he arrived at my doorstep."

Merle made a disbelieving sound. "Ya mean tha' ya think he rose from the dead? Like in tha movies?" He started cackling, followed by a loud whoop. "Ya sure tha' I'm tha only one sniffin' up some ol' nose candy 'round here?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "How else do you explain the head?"

Daryl stopped pacing in his tracks. "Ya got a radio?"

Her eyes widened. "Yeah, upstairs," she replied. "I'll be right back."

Stepping around the body, and making sure that her dog followed her, she stomped up the stairs in a hurry. After a stop in the bathroom to heave up the contents of her stomach, she grabbed her radio and quickly went back down the stairs. She plugged it in and the three of them gathered around the radio like they were boy scouts crowding around warm campfire. Emma turned up the volume and she held her breath as the announcer continued with some breaking news.

"…_Officials from The CDC are saying it's a rabies-like virus that gets into your bloodstream and affects your neurological system. They are asking people not to panic and to stay at home until this all blows over. They are issuing a level five emergency for those on the roadways due to the flow of infected individuals crowding the streets. This virus has spread so quickly that the only means to keep from being infected is to stay at home… I repeat, stay at home until you get further word from The CDC."_

"Jesus," Emma breathed. "They didn't even tell us what happens to people after they're infected. Fuck!"

Daryl jumped at her outburst. "Tha hell?"

"The internet! Why didn't I think of using the damn internet?!"

She hopped onto her feet and sat down at the kitchen table; her fingers were fast to type in CNN's website.

"How come ya didn't find anythin' out on this thing before now?" Daryl asked, genuinely curious.

"All I usually use it for is for is to e-mail my…mom and my boss," she said and then as a bad-timed joke, she added, "and porn."

"Well, tha's good ta know," Merle chimed in next to a beat-red Daryl.

"I was kidding," she said.

"Sure, sure ya was." He nudged Daryl with his elbow. "Tol' ya she was a wild one, didn't I?"

Daryl showed his brother the longest finger on his right hand.

"Okay, it says here that when people are infected, they get a very high grade fever and flu-like symptoms." Emma swallowed hard as she thought about her mom in Florida. "It says that…that there is no cure as of yet but that The CDC is close to formulating a vaccine. Oh, God, Mom…"

Per usual, Merle ignored Emma's personal plea in regards to her mom. "So, how's it tha' people get this virus?"

Bile rose up in Emma's throat and she took a deep breath to close off her throat. "Uh…it says that people are… no, this can't be right."

"What?" Daryl barked. "What's it say?"

"It…It says that people are bitten, like rabies."

It took a moment for that to sink it with all three of them. The fact that people were biting each other and spreading an unknown, quick-spreading disease made Emma's fingers twitch for her phone. A bad feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she recalled the conversation she'd had with her stepfather just a few hours prior to her encounter with Clark Hudson. She could always hold out hope that a different illness had taken over her mother's immune system but chances were that her mom was one of those that were infected. Tears filled her eyes and she tried desperately to blink them away but failed miserably as one escaped down her cheek. She looked up to see Daryl watching her with those squinty eyes but he looked away as soon as their eyes met.

"Is tha' why the trash-eater tried ta bite ya?" Merle asked. "So, the infection could spread?"

Emma shook her head. "People infected with a disease that affects the brain don't think rationally like that; it's not like the disease takes over and thinks for them. It's more primal than that. I think… I think he was actually trying to eat us."

"What for?" Merle asked.

"Hell if I know," she replied.

They marinated in that information for a moment, contemplating the best course of action. Finally, Merle nodded once to his brother. "We gotta get outta here. Go up to tha cabin and hang for a bit."

Daryl glanced at Emma and then returned the nod to his brother. She opened her mouth to argue but what basis did her argument have? They owed her nothing. In fact, she owed them for saving her life just minutes ago.

"Before you go, I—"

"Oh no," Merle cut her off. "Don't think that ya can just hop on board the Dixon train and ride this thing out on our coat tails, princess. Ya ain't goin' nowhere with us."

"I was going to say that—"

"We don't give two shits about nobody 'cause nobody gives two shits about us, sweetheart. There ain't no all for one and one for all in our household 'cause we watch out for ourselves so don't even try to push out those tits or shake that ass to try and catch a ride cause it ain't gonna work." Just in case she did make an attempt, Merle took a long look at Emma's chest but unfortunately for him, she crossed her arms over it. "Ain't nothin' free."

"What I was going to say was thank you, you moron." The Dixon boys blinked at her twice. "For saving my life."

Obviously, the words "thank" and "you" hadn't been said to them very often because it was as if she were speaking a foreign language. They shuffled around a bit and avoided eye contact. At one point, Daryl started kicking around a piece of flesh on the floor that had fallen off of some part of Clark.

"That's all," she said, finally.

They flew out the door, Merle in the lead, just as Emma reached for her phone. It was hard to ignore the body on the floor and she'd take care of it eventually but first she had to check on her mom and make sure that Charlotte was locked up safe. She called Frank's cell phone multiple times, getting his voicemail with each call. She growled and called her mom's phone. Nothing. Tears were streaming down her cheeks by the time she managed to dial her daughter's phone.

"Hello?" Emma's stomach tightened at the sound of Charlotte's panicked voice.

"Char!"

"Mom! What's going on? They're, like, locking down the city or something! They won't let us leave!" Charlotte was typically a cool cucumber under pressure but in this instance, she was more flustered than a whore in church. "I don't know what to do!"

"Just…just stay there, baby, okay? Do what they say and don't let anyone in who is sick, okay?"

"Yeah, they said that people are eating each other," she said with a shaky voice. "This is real, right? Is this real or am I dreaming? Please tell me that I'm having a horrible nightmare."

"Listen, Charlotte, go get as much food as you can and a big pot and then go to your room and stay there. Lock the fucking door and don't go anywhere, understand?"

"Yeah, what's the pot for?"

"What did I just tell you, Char?"

"To get as much food as I could, a big pot and… oh gross! You want me to go to the bathroom in a pot? That's disgusting! How can—"

Emma rolled her eyes and groaned, cutting the young girl's rant off. "This is deadly serious, Charlotte. Just do what I say, for once, please! I'm…I'm going to come get you, okay!"

"You promise?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Maybe by tonight or tomorrow morning but promise me that you won't leave that bedroom so I know where to find you." Emma was two seconds from breaking down and bawling her eyes out but she kept her voice strong and steady to keep her daughter from going to pieces. "I'm coming for you, baby."

Charlotte cried into the phone and sniffled a little before saying, "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too." Emma wiped her cheeks and blew out a deep breath away from the phone. "Be safe."

* * *

Emma had packed everything she could think of that would get her to Athens, Georgia where Charlotte was. It normally took her a little over 90 minutes but there was no telling how long she'd be stuck in traffic with the panic of the virus in everyone's head. With extra clothes, emergency road kit, extra gas can, first aid kit, her daddy's hunting knife, and she grabbed her bow for good measure, she felt more ready than she'd ever be. Breathing through her nose, she covered the headless body in her living room with a tarp; as much as she'd like to get it out of her house, she didn't have time to deal with it. Then she put Max in the bathtub and gave him a good bath, complete with a five minute spray in the mouth. She discovered during that bath that she had a very active gag reflex but there was no way she was traveling in a car with him for two hours with pieces of human flesh between his teeth.

Surprisingly, after Max's bath, she decided that she needed to eat before hitting the road so she turned on her radio while she flipped a grilled cheese sandwich in a skillet on the stove. It was odd how they were playing music in such a spastic time but it was sort of calming since Emma assumed that they'd never play Roy Orbison's 'Pretty Woman' if this was a real catastrophe. When her grilled cheese was done, she grabbed a handful of chips and sat down at the table just as Roy was wailing out the last few notes. Then the next song came on and she froze, mid-bite—it was Roy Orbison, singing 'Pretty Woman'…again. When she was done with her sandwich, he started singing it a third time and when she was stomping out her back door into the dark, he'd just began singing it for the fourth time.

A ball of emotion clogged up her throat when she saw the old Chevy still parked in front of the Dixon's trailer. She found Merle in the garage, prepping his motorcycle for what looked to be a long ride out to the middle of nowhere. Daryl was loading bags and a few guns into the back of his pickup, shooting a scowl her way as she approached.

"There's something really wrong," she announced.

Merle gave her a look. "No shit, sweetheart."

She shook her head. "No, I mean… I think the radio station has been abandoned. They keep playing the same song over and over again. This is bad. Really fucking bad."

Daryl snorted. "DJ prob'ly had ta take a big ass shit or somethin'."

"For thirty minutes?!" Emma exclaimed. "This isn't going to just blow over in a couple of weeks like they're saying! This is…Oh my God, I have to get to Charlotte."

Merle hopped up, his jaw clenched as he looked at her. Emma had to admit that he was pretty freaking scary as he approached her with his chest puffed out and those blue eyes narrowed in her direction.

"Who's Charlotte?" Daryl asked, scrunching up his face.

"She's m-my…" Emma stuttered as Merle stood over her, glaring at her in warning. "M-my friend. She's in Athens and I can't just…just leave her." Tears formed in Emma's eyes as she thought about how scared and alone Charlotte was. "I have to go get her."

Merle looked impressed. Daryl shook his head as he looked between his brother and Emma.

"Why ya so worried about someone who's jus' a friend? Ya look like yer gonna start bawlin' yer eyes out."

Emma knew that Daryl wasn't stupid and he apparently remembered enough about her to know when she wasn't being honest. In fact, her inability to lie had gotten her into some serious trouble in her lifetime but she was determined to not make this one of those times. Her motivation stood in front of her in the form of a six foot redneck with no qualms about slicing a knife across her fragile little throat.

"Uh…well, she's a really good friend. In fact, she's my niece."

"How tha hell ya got a niece? Ya didn't have no brothers or sisters."

_Oh shit. Think quicker on your feet, you idiot!_

Emma made a weird sputtering sound through her lips to buy her lie-time. "She's my niece by marriage."

Merle looked a little sick at how horrible she was at lying and she tried to tell him with her eyes that she was shitty at this and it was his fault for keeping secrets from Daryl. He silently replied by staring harder at her and clenching his right hand into a fist.

"Why don't yer husband go an' git her then?" Daryl asked.

_Oh, what tangled webs we weave…_

Merle was such a frightening distraction that she nearly answered Daryl with, "What husband?" But instead, she found herself saying, "He's dead. Died a long time ago and now it's up to me to take care of his niece."

After a few beats of staring and silence, Daryl waved a dismissive hand in her direction. "Well, whatever. Go an' git yer niece er whoever. Good fuckin' luck."

With pride in his eyes, Merle clapped his brother on the back and made a clicking noise with his tongue. "I do believe ma lil' brother spoke fer tha both of us, princess."

Emma thought about what it would be like traveling to Athens by herself in this sort of panic. Even with Max, it would be a rough ride and she only had a dull hunting knife and a bow—that she wasn't so great at—to defend herself. What if she got to the school and she had a bunch of infected people to deal with before she could get to Charlotte? How was she going to get to her without getting herself killed in the process?

"Wait!" She screeched as Daryl put the last of the bags into the truck. Merle had settled himself down beside his motorcycle again. "Please! Help me find her!"

Daryl snorted. "Hell with tha', woman."

Emma started to panic. Merle groaned out of annoyance and pushed off the ground; he put his hands on his hips as he headed toward her, ready for whatever needed to be done to get her out of his way.

"No, I need help," she pleaded. This time, she looked at Merle who knew that what she was asking was so much more than what she'd told Daryl. This was her daughter, her life, his niece that she needed to go rescue. She hoped that with all that talk about "being loyal to kin" in The Dixon household held water because it was her only shot. "She's by herself and…and scared and I have to go get her."

Merle read her silent plea, loud and clear; she could tell by the half-smirk, half-sneer that littered his face in response. "Ain't nothing free, darlin'."

She swallowed as tears fell down her cheeks. "Come on! What do I have to do! It's a short trip and then you can be on your way to the middle-of-nowhere in no time! I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to!"

That was the wrong thing to say to Merle Dixon. He let out an obnoxious whoop. "Now, we're talkin', girlie! How 'bout getting' down on them pretty lil' knees right now for a down payment!" He finished the performance by starting to undo his belt.

"Christ, Merle! Let's just git the hell outta here," Daryl grumbled.

Emma wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and thought about giving up. For a brief moment, she considered whoring herself out to get their help. She'd been through some rough financial times in her life and never even considered—

"I'll pay you!" She proclaimed. "I have money!"

That made Merle's smile drop into an expression of consideration. "How much?"

Emma looked from one brother to the next, silently calculating how much she had in her savings account in addition to her checking. "Ten grand."

"Ya got ten grand ta jus' hand out?" Daryl asked, with wide eyes. "An' yer jus' gonna give it to us so you can git to your…niece?"

"I'm not rich or anything but I have savings and she's worth much more than that." Emma wondered in that moment when she would learn to just say what was necessary instead of being all dramatic.

"How much more?" Merle asked.

Emma swallowed something heavy. What she wanted to say and what she could say were two different amounts because she wasn't rich but she'd give just about anything to get to Charlotte. She felt a million miles away from her and it physically hurt to think of spending more time than necessary without her. Those Dixon boys would get her there and it didn't matter what it cost her.

"You want everything I have?" Emma asked.

"Tha' was a stupid question," Daryl pointed out.

Merle grinned all toothy-like. "Damn straight, sweetheart. I'm puttin' my pretty neck on tha line, I want it all."

"Okay, I have twenty-two thousand dollars in my savings account and about two thousand in my checking." Daryl whistled through his teeth and Emma shrugged. "I'm frugal."

"Tha' sounds like a fuckin' deal, woman!" Merle said and held his hand out toward her. "Let's shake on it."

She rolled her eyes and put her small hand in his larger one. He pulled her close to him so that he could whisper harshly into her ear. "Don't ya fuck this up, ya hear?" She nodded. "Alright, then."

With a quick exhale, she pulled away from him. "I'm going to finish packing up."

"Okay, lil' brother, let's make us some moolah!" Merle announced.

Daryl started to argue as she started to walk away; it was too hushed for her to make out the exact words but it was clear that he wasn't on board with Merle's business deal. Sure, Daryl could have ventured out on his own and left Merle to deal with Operation Rescue-The-Nonexistent-Niece on his own but he wouldn't. Because blood meant everything to Daryl and Merle was blood. Emma couldn't help but wonder, as she approached her back door, what his reaction was going to be when he found out that he had blood elsewhere too. Merle's threats or not, she was going to have to tell him.

* * *

By the time they got all packed and ready to go, it was after 10pm which they were hoping that traveling by night, would make things a little easier—less traffic and people. The way they decided to head out was Emma driving her SUV following behind Daryl driving the Chevy. Merle's motorcycle had been guided into the back and they'd strapped it in more carefully than an overprotective mother buckles in her newborn.

Max was typically a good traveler but picking up on his master's nerves made him a panting, shaking mess. He wobbled around in the backseat of the moving vehicle, moving from window to window in an effort to keep lookout for whatever it was that was making Emma so nervous.

The typical drive was scenic and peaceful, complete with fresh green trees and country roads. Everything seemed normal as they made their way out of Milledgeville and she was beginning to regret even asking for help from the brothers. This was going to be the easiest money that Merle ever made and that was saying something since he sold crack for a living. Emma turned up the radio, which was now on an automated emergency announcement. It wasn't the most comforting thing but occasionally, they'd throw in some new information. While driving, she wrote down an address they announced for a refugee center in Atlanta just in case she wasn't going to be able to make it back home for some reason. It was probably a good plan, so she could be around the people who knew what was going on; possibly, be the first place they'd issue a vaccine as well. Max gave her a lick up the side of the face which made her realize that dogs probably wouldn't be welcome there and there was no way in hell that she'd leave him behind. Perhaps a hotel in the Atlanta area would make an exception… Emma shook her head because she was getting ahead of herself. First, she had to find Charlotte.

Everything seemed to be going smooth until they got to the bypass and they slowed down, almost to a stop. Emma looked around the Chevy to see a pileup of cars that had gotten into an accident blocking the road. It was unnervingly quiet and the dark made her look around the surrounding woods for a dude with a chainsaw and a mask made of skin. Daryl and Merle got out of the truck and Emma followed suit, commanding Max to stick to her side. She grabbed her flashlight before she closed her door as quietly as she could.

They walked up to the pile of wreckage, and studied it for a minute. Their only light was coming from their headlights so it was hard to see the details but one thing was certain—they weren't getting through this way until they moved one of these cars.

"We should make sure that there isn't anyone injured in these cars," Emma said, starting to walk forward.

Merle reached out and grabbed her arm. "We ain't here ta be superheroes. Our plan is ta move tha' Honda and squeeze around the wreckage that way." He pointed around the right side of the road with the hand that wasn't wrapped around her elbow.

"I'm just gonna have a peek," she said, pulling her elbow out of his grasp.

He grabbed it again and squeezed, instantly bringing up bad memories for Emma so she overreacted by the gesture. Her heart raced as she tugged her arm from out of Merle's hand and slapped him across the face before she could stop herself. Merle's eyes widened into a murderous glare and he stepped toward her; she held an arm up in front of her face to protect any incoming attack. Max stepped between them, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

"Hey! Let's git this done!" Daryl yelled. "Ain't got time for this shit!"

Merle gritted his teeth and Emma's eyes fell onto the reddening handprint starting to form on his cheek. Immediately, she felt regret and shame and disgust for herself. She'd had that same mark on her body in the past, only it came from a different, more aggressive hand than her own. There was no reason for her to hit Merle; her overreaction brought up wild, harsh memories that she'd wished to keep bottled up for the rest of her life but they were surfacing now. As were the tears that threatened to pour from her eyes; she wanted to sob like a baby but something in Merle's expression stopped her. As his eyes darted over her face, the severity of his expression almost softened to a point of…was that understanding? Of course it was. As different as Merle and Daryl were from Emma, there was still a common denominator—they'd all been beaten by someone who should have loved them. The fact that Merle caught sight of that by just looking in her eyes was astounding and gave Emma new insight into the kind of man that he really was.

"Ya hit me like that again and I'll kill ya," he said calmly.

Or maybe he just wanted that money bad enough to hold off on the retribution aspect of that smack.

Emma opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come out. Instead, she called her dog off and ordered him to follow her as she flipped her flashlight on and began looking through car windows. Resigned to let her do whatever the fuck she wanted, Merle leaned against Daryl's truck, pulled out his goodie bag and lit up a joint.

Daryl followed Emma, occasionally opening car doors and taking things that would be useful like first aid kits or full water bottles. It didn't feel right to take it because there were still laws, even though the world had gone to hell, Emma thought. But the owners of those cars were accounted for; not alive but dead and strapped into the driver's seats of their cars. One of them had an obviously crushed skull from the hitting the steering wheel. His open eyes stared blankly into the dark sky as if he were waiting for something magical to happen. Emma felt her chest tighten when she noticed the kid's toy on the floor in the back seat; some little kid was going to grow up without a Daddy. The other driver, a middle aged woman, had been vaulted through the front windshield and into the grass. It had been a head-on collision and both drivers appeared to have died on impact. Emma put her hand on the hood of the Honda and gasped when she felt that it was still warm. These people had died just minutes before they came across them.

She jumped when she heard a soft moaning coming from the car she was touching. Jerking the flashlight up, she lit up the inside of the vehicle and held her breath. Daryl pulled his hunting knife out of its place on his belt and held it up like a pro. They both ducked and squinted to see who…or what the noise was coming from.

"Oh my God…" Emma whispered. "Is he…still alive?"

Daryl cut his eyes to her. "He's about as much alive as Clark Hudson was."

A chill ran up Emma's spine. She'd been hoping that Clark Hudson was the first and last person she'd ever run across that had risen from the dead. Anxious, she peeked at the woman's body in the grass just to be safe and she appeared to be completely dead.

"He musta been bit," Daryl mumbled as they both moved closer to the now-thrashing man inside the car. The window was rolled down and with the light from the flashlight Emma could see the drying blood plastered all over the side of the guy's head. As soon as he laid eyes on them, he put his nose to the air like a dog and inhaled before he started chomping his jaw like a madman. "He jus' took a big whiff of us an' now he wants ta eat us."

Emma shrugged stiffly. "Must be my new perfume."

"What we got here?" Merle asked from behind them and they parted so he could see the guy in the car who was going crazy trying to figure out how to get the hell out of the car so he could try to eat them. The seatbelt dug into his chest as he pulled forward toward them; apparently people lose their problem solving skills when they come back from the dead because there was zero effort from the guy to try and get the strap off. "Ooh, ya caught us a biter! This here's a nice opportunity to learn a bit about our enemy, shall we?"

He pushed his way between them and held his hand out for Daryl's knife as the dead guy finally got both hands outside the window and was clawing at the air. It was apparent right away that these things were not smart at all. As she suspected, their reactions were primal and instinctive. "Let's see what happens if I do this…" When the biter has his arm outside the vehicle, Merle plunged the knife into its bicep and quickly pulled his hand away. It had zero reaction. It didn't even try to pull the knife out of the muscle or scream in pain. The only reaction it had was to keep clawing at the air in an effort to get to the live people. To feed. Emma's stomach turned as Merle reached in quickly and pulled out the knife. "Or how 'bout this…" For a stoner, Merle was pretty quick on his feet. He stuck the knife in deeply right in the dead guy's throat and there was the same reaction—zero pain and no desire to get the knife out of its throat, almost like it didn't even know it was there.

Unfortunately, with all the thrashing around it was doing, it jiggled the knife loose and it fell to the floor of the vehicle.

"Damn, Merle! Tha' was ma good knife!"

"Don't pitch a god damn fit, Daryl or I'll send you to ride in that gas guzzler with the ladies!" Merle exclaimed. "We'll git yer precious knife back."

Emma wanted to argue about Merle's plural usage of the word "lady" because Max was certainly no lady; just because he'd had his balls cut off didn't mean that her canine was any less masculine. However before she could manage to argue, something wrapped around her ankle and yanked. She yelped as she toppled to the ground, hitting the back of her head against the concrete. For a short period, she thought she may have been dreaming all of this—the world grew fuzzy and the stars were bright in the sky above her head. She may have even smiled a little at the peaceful, crisp night above her. Until something blocked out that view; that something was yet another seemingly dead thing coming to life. Before the used-to-be woman opened its jaw and started chomping toward Emma's neck, she muttered a colorful curse and her world went black.

* * *

**_A/N: I know, I know...another cliffie. Sorry about that. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. _**

**_Emma is in pretty good hands. I wish I was her for just a moment. I would have taken Merle up on that whoring out thing that he offered. _**

**_What did ya'll think? How weird is Emma that she's eating with a dead zombie laying on her living room floor? Do you think she'll get bit? Who do you think is going to come to her rescue? Who wants to go skinny dipping with the Dixon brothers (trick question to see if you're still paying attention)? Leave me a review! Thanks for reading!_**

**_See ya soon, ya'll! _**


	12. Chapter Eleven

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I've got some personal stuff I'm dealing with (grievingforMerle) but nothing serious so no worries. :) Thank you for all the reviews! I suck at responding so I'm so sorry for that! I appreciate them SOOOOO much! You have no idea!**_

**Chapter Ten**

You know those rare moments as a parent when you are sleeping so, so good and you're having the best dream about some hot actor, like Sean Patrick Flanery, and there's whipped cream and some sort of chocolate sauce involved? Your body is so at rest and your brain only has to focus on that one fantasy instead of dirty laundry, what to make for dinner or when was the last time you got your hair cut? Then, you get to the good part of the dream…you know, the part where Flanery starts doing some really funky stuff with his tongue, and then suddenly little fingers start poking at you? And little sweet voices beg you to wake up because you'd promised the owners of those voices and fingers that you'd make them chocolate chip pancakes the night before? That's when Flanery's tongue vanishes and you're left with reality.

That was what Emma was going through, except the voice lulling her awake wasn't sweet but gruff; it wasn't cute little fingers, which are good to gobble, poking her but the toe of a big, dirty boot. When she opened her eyes, the face of Merle Dixon blurred into focus. Immediately, a sharp pain rang through her head and she groaned as she tried to sit up. Max was practically on top of her, his body warmth making her sweat.

"Well, lookie who decided ta wake up," Merle said. "How ya feel? We couldn't get near ya 'cause of tha' damn dog. Fucker almost took ma hand off."

She put her hand on her head because it felt like it might fall off if she didn't and she groaned in answer to the question. As her vision came more into focus, she saw something covering her arms and part of her chest. Instantly, she freaked.

"Fucking shit," she mumbled. "Is this blood?!"

"Yep," Merle replied.

Then she remembered what caused her to fall down and hit her head in the first place. She'd been bitten by that woman that was supposed to be dead.

"Oh my God…Oh my God…Oh my God…" Emma chanted as she got up off the ground, turning her arm over to poke at her skin so she could find where the wound was. "This totally sucks!"

Merle raised his eyebrows. "Tha' the best ya got? 'This totally sucks'?" Emma stopped studying her arm long enough to blink at him in confusion. "Ya throw out a 'fuck' or a 'dammit' every five seconds fer no reason at all but ya think ya git bit and are dyin' and all ya can say is 'this totally sucks'?"

Emma frowned. "What am I supposed to say?"

At this point, Daryl came from behind her SUV holding one of their hunting rifles that they brought along with them. "I don't see nothin' else we can use." He cut his eyes to Emma. "How ya feelin'?"

She thought it was pretty obvious how she felt because she was crying and shaking and poking at her own arm in an effort to find a bite wound. "Not too great."

"I found some Advil in tha' Honda if ya wan' it," Daryl said, reaching into his pocket.

The laugh that came out of Emma was slightly hysterical. "I don't think Advil is going to help me now." Merle grinned. His teeth gleamed in the dark and Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm glad that you think this is funny, you sick fuck!"

Daryl swooped in front of her. "Whoa! The hell is yer problem?"

She would have answered Daryl's question if it wasn't for the moonlight hitting Daryl's blue eyes just perfectly so that it reminded her of her daughter; the daughter that was waiting to be rescued. Tears flooded Emma's eyes and she could feel her face scrunch up into an incoming wail. Emma came from a long line of ugly criers and she was no exception. Her face got all scrunchy, her eyes squinted into slits and her lips turned into a rollercoaster of quivery dips but she didn't care how ugly she looked because she was going to die knowing that her little girl wasn't safe.

"Please, Daryl," Emma whispered harshly. He was looking at her like she'd just grown a second nose and a third ear but she dismissed it because of the whole being-an-ugly-crier thing. That is just how you handle ugly-criers. "You have to go find Charlotte. She needs help and if I don't make it, she's going to be on her own."

Merle hopped to it at the mention of Charlotte. "Keep yer britches on, princess. Ya ain't goin' anywhere."

Emma was too irrational to think logically about what he was saying. "No, no… you don't understand, she's only 18 and I told her to stay in her dorm room until—"

"Ya ain't been bit, girl!" Merle growled. "Shut the hell up for a minute and look at yer arm! There ain't no bite marks!"

Emma rubbed her hand over arm. "My elbow hurts a little."

Merle went to grab her arm but hesitated, thinking of how she'd reacted when he grabbed her arm before. "Ya scraped it on the pavement. Ya weren't bit."

"You sure?" Emma squeaked.

"Stuck ma knife in the bitch's skull before she had the chance," Merle muttered proudly.

Emma was conflicted. First, she was pissed that Merle let her think she'd been bit inducing a panic attack for his own amusement; however, he had saved her life. As she tried to process how to react, Daryl and Merle had already started heading toward the Chevy. That's when she noticed that the Honda had been moved and a path was clear for their vehicles.

"Okay, then…" was all she could get out and it was so quiet that neither of the guys heard the useless words.

With her head still pounding, she opened her car door and Max jumped in before she climbed into her seat. Figuring that everyone deserved to smoke a cigarette after they'd almost been killed, she pulled one out of the center console and lit it before rolling her window down.

"God damn, that's good," she mumbled to Max. Typically she never smoked in her car with Max because dogs inhaled second hand smoke too but there was that whole almost-dying thing. Her dog was the forgiving type plus he was so bad ass that she was positive that if he had fingers, he would have pulled his own out of the pack and lit it up.

They'd been on the road for twenty minutes and her cigarette was long gone when she decided to try and call Charlotte's cell phone to make sure she was okay. She had held off for as long as she could; if she called as much as she wanted to, it would have induced panic in her daughter which is not what she wanted her to do. The radio broadcast had been issuing the same statement since they'd gotten back on the road: Stay in your homes; if you get bitten, seek help immediately; information about the refuge center in Atlanta; big talk about the soon-to-be-distributed vaccine. Nothing was new and Emma didn't know whether to feel good or bad about that fact.

As Charlotte's cell rang, Emma held her breath and she blew out a big sigh of relief as her daughter answered, "Mom?!"

"Are you okay?"

The hesitation broke Emma's heart. "I…I don't know! The military is here and they're trying to evacuate us but there were some gun shots…it was close! I don't know what to do!"

Emma's hands tightened on the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white. She didn't know what to tell Charlotte and she felt helpless. The only thing she could do was make an attempt to keep her voice calm and collected to ease Char's fears. "Just…just stay there, sweetheart. We're on our way to get you. We'll be there in an hour so don't move, okay?

"I'll try," she said with a broken voice. "I'm scared, Mom. The lights went out a little while ago and the battery on my phone is almost dead. What if they make me leave and I'm not here when you get here?"

The terror in her voice caused Emma to be on the verge of sobbing so she held the phone away from her mouth so she could breathe some composure into her voice. "I'll find you, okay? Don't worry about that. No matter what, Charlotte, I will find you. I love you."

"I love you t—"

When the phone went dead, Emma tossed her cell phone onto floor and tried hard not to let the tears cloud her vision as she drove.

* * *

An hour and ten minutes later, Emma's tears had turned her face into a red, puffy mess but at least they'd dried up. They were approaching the city of Athens where The University of Georgia was and her stomach was a ball of anxiety. It was almost two in the morning and Emma was exhausted from the lack of sleeping and driving; plus her head hurt like a son of a bitch from cracking it on the concrete. All she wanted to do was get Charlotte and head for home so she could give Daryl and Merle every cent of money she had. Yeah, she'd worked hard for that money but in a way, Daryl deserved a little piece of it too since he was the inspiration behind the books that she'd published.

Unfortunately, a quick in-and-out in Athens wasn't going to happen. About a mile out of the city, traffic started to get thick and finally halted to a stop. Emma grabbed Max's leash, clipped it on his collar and got out of her car. There were other people hanging outside their vehicles, talking amongst themselves and staring at the large roadblock in the form of a military tank.

"What the fuck…" she mumbled.

"They ain't lettin' nobody into the city," a young girl said from a nearby car when she noticed Emma's astonishment at the roadblock. "They said that they're quarantining every city across the country that has a population of over fifty thousand."

Emma walked over to the young girl and Max hiked his leg on her tire. "Sorry," Emma said, apologizing for her dog.

The woman waved her off. "That's alright."

"How long ago did they put the road block up?"

"I've been sitting here for about two hours," she replied. "Ain't got anywhere else to go, really. I was visiting my sister over in Atlanta when all this started so I hauled ass back home to get to my parents. The power shut down in the entire city and the phones are all dead, too."

"That's nuts," Emma breathed. "What are they trying to accomplish by holing people up like that?"

The woman shrugged. "I guess they're tryin' to keep the infected from getting out. They claim that there is help on the inside of the city, making sure the healthy people don't get contaminated but who can trust the government these days, right?"

"Yeah," Emma whispered, staring at the uniformed militia keeping people from crossing the city lines. "Have you talked to them?"

"No, but a few others have and didn't have any luck," the girl answered. "Go for it. We could all use a little entertainment right about now."

Emma smiled before shooing Max back into the SUV and shutting the door behind him. "Allrighty."

As she passed the Chevy she'd been tailing since she left Milledgeville, the driver side window squeaked down and Daryl grumbled out a, "hey!" Emma stopped and raised her eyebrows in question. "What's goin' on?"

"Girl over there says that the city is being quarantined. No one gets in and no one gets out."

"That's it then, right?" he asked. "We ain't gettin' in so what's the point?"

Merle was surprisingly quiet in the passenger seat. Emma bit her tongue and tried hard to remember that Daryl had no idea that she was trying to get to her daughter. If he'd known that, surely he wouldn't expect her to give up that easily.

"I'm going to go talk to these fine gentlemen up here and see what's what," she said, ignoring the annoyed look on his face as she walked away.

Emma made her way past at least a hundred yards of cars—some with sleeping passengers with nowhere to go, some with people entertaining themselves with music and card games and others that looked to be completely abandoned. There were elderly people, parents, teenagers and children and they all had one thing in common: They all looked like they were having trouble keeping it together. Sure, they tried to pass the time with mundane activities but as soon as Emma made eye contact with any of them, she could see the uncertainty and fear. This wasn't like the swine flu or mad cow disease; this was a whole new ball game that wasn't going away anytime soon. Even with a vaccine, the world would never, ever be the same.

When she arrived at the gate, there were a few other people questioning the guys holding up the barricade. No matter how much they pleaded with the officers, they gave no answers and no leniency. No one was to pass through that barrier under no circumstances. A man was desperate to get to his wife and kids; an older woman needed to get home to take her insulin; a woman who was worried about someone letting her three Pomeranians outside to pee—none of these things mattered to the military. They ignored all pleas and entertained zero requests.

With deflated spirit, Emma made her way back to the Chevy and tapped on the window. Daryl rolled it down and squinted at her, probably already knowing what she was going to say.

"They won't let anyone through." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'll have to find another way."

"They prob'ly got all the roads blocked goin' into that city," Daryl said, crushing her broken spirit just a little bit more. She knew what he wanted her to say but there was no way in hell that she was giving up. "We should try ta get outta this mess an' find somewhere to sleep before we get pinned in fer good."

Emma nodded and walked back to her car where Max was panting and pacing from the front to the back seat and then back again. She got in and they managed to turn around in the grass by the road and get around a few of the people who'd pulled in behind them. They drove for a few miles and then turned down a desolate country road that looked like a pretty good place to dump a body which didn't fare well for her future. When they finally came across an empty field with a few trees scattered around for cover, they parked their vehicles and climbed out. It was unfortunate that all the hotels in the area were located inside the city of Athens. There were little run down places to stay on the outskirts but Emma was sure they'd already been booked for the night with travelers that couldn't make it home.

"I'm gonna go see a man about a horse," Daryl mumbled to his brother and then skulked off into the darkness toward the trees.

"I have a little food that I packed," Emma announced as Merle pulled a bag of something out of his jacket. She pulled out her flashlight and kept the door of her SUV open so they had at least a little light. It would be just perfect if she fell and cracked her head again. "It's not much but I have some beef jerky and granola bars, if you guys are hungry."

Apparently, sleepy Merle wasn't his normal chatty self so Emma pulled the food out of the back of the truck while Max peed on every bush and shrub surrounding them. She walked over to Merle with a bag of jerky and couple granola bars just as he tapped out a little Cocaine onto the hood of the truck.

"Christ, Merle," Emma groaned.

He shot her a shut-the-fuck-up look that worked like a charm, stuck a rolled up dollar bill up his nose and snorted. Emma watched him close his eyes and wobble a little bit as the drug entered his bloodstream and coursed into his heart.

"That shits gonna kill you," she said, still watching the effects of the drug being written all over his face. Tension seemed to spill out of his body as he opened his eyes and grinned at her.

"Wanna try it? Makes fuckin' feel real good," he drawled.

Emma had heard hundreds of sexual comments and innuendos leave Merle's mouth in the past several months but for some reason, this one made her face turn a bright shade of red. Turning away from him, she snorted and mumbled something about being hungry as she tried to breathe the embarrassment away.

"So, tha deal with tha girl..." he started but hesitated for a moment, looking for his brother to come walking back. "We go fetch her an' then we go our separate ways. A fuckin' family reunion isn't gonna happen, ya got it?"

Emma cocked her head. "Can I just ask you one thing?"

Merle sighed. "What if I say no?"

"I'll ask anyways."

He mumbled something about women and their non-stop jabbering. "Go on, then."

"Why is it that you want to keep this from him so badly? What exactly do you think is going to happen if he finds out?"

"There ain't no reason fer him ta know," he replied.

"He's going to be pissed off," she stated. "He's not going to want anything to do with her."

Merle grinned. "Maybe ya need ta remember who you're talkin' about, princess. My baby brother is a whiner; he probably likes ta cuddle and I'm pretty fuckin' sure tha' he changed outfits a couple times before goin' ta Hank's bar last week. He doesn't like blood er fightin' an' he sure as hell don't do anything he possibly can ta get laid."

Emma let out an exasperated breath. "Your point?"

"Ma point is if tha' boy found out tha' he had a daughter, sure he'd be pissed at first but then it'd bug 'em. He'd lie in bed at night and ponder about wha' she looks like an' what she's gonna be when she grows up." Merle grabbed a pistol out from under the passenger seat of the Chevy and slammed the door. "Tha' girl would ruin his fuckin' life."

Shaking her head, she said, "Just because he'd want to get to know her?"

"Just leave it alone, woman," he growled. "If he—"

Merle cut himself off when he noticed a dark figure walking back toward the two of them.

"Ya think we should light a fire, maybe? We can heat up some of tha canned beans we brought." Daryl dumped an armful of firewood down on the ground at his feet. "There was some more just back tha' way."

The tension between Merle and Emma was so thick that Daryl could have cut it with a knife. Merle was sneering at Emma who had two hands on her hips and her knee pointed out which was almost always a verbal sparring position for a woman. He gave them both a weird look which made them both realize just how strangely they were acting; at the same time, they shook themselves to break out of it. Emma started sorting through all five granola bars, organizing them by flavors and Merle walked into the darkness in the same direction that Daryl had come from.

"Tha hell was tha' about?" he asked.

"What was what about?"

"Don't give me tha' shit," he mumbled. "The two of ya were goin' at it again."

She shrugged. "He's an asshole. Pisses me off."

Daryl snorted and started working on the fire. Emma watched him carefully as she chewed on some beef jerky, trying to learn something from this whole fucked up situation. He'd been doing shit like this since he was born and the way he worked his hands around the wood, lit the match and had the thing going in a matter of minutes was a statement to that fact. By the time Merle wandered back, the fire was warm and Daryl already had some camping pots out, ready to cook. Emma felt useless because, even though she'd done some of these things with him as a young girl, she couldn't bring the memories back clear enough to make herself valuable.

"Max, fuss," she ordered and the dog obediently went to her side as she grabbed her flashlight.

"Where ya goin'?" Daryl called as she walked toward the trees.

"Gotta see that same man about that same horse," she replied.

"Look out for the plants with the three leaves!" Merle yelled, followed by his typical cackle. "Er you'll be itchin' yer twat all fuckin' night!"

As Emma walked toward the trees, shining her flashlight on the ground to see where she was going, she thought about what Merle had told her about Daryl. It just didn't make sense that if he found out about Charlotte, that it would change him in any way. She didn't know him like she used to but she had a feeling that him discovering that he had an eighteen year old daughter would piss him off, he'd say a hearty "fuck you!" and then he'd go about his business like usual. There would be no desperate need for a game of twenty questions or a desire to move closer to her because he just wouldn't give a fuck. Merle was damn complex for such a simple individual.

With a grimace and after a quick look around with the flashlight, Emma yanked her pants down and took care of business. Max followed suit on some rather suspicious looking greenery by a big oak tree.

"Don't let that shit touch your wiener or you're in trouble, boy," she advised the dog. His response was to utter out a growl and Emma grew a little offended. "I was only trying to help." But then his growl turned deeper and that was when she figured out that she wasn't alone out in the trees.

* * *

_**A/N: Those Dixon boys are so grouchy! :) I have those same kinda Flanery dreams except they involve Mr. Rooker; I figured using his name in this would be a little weird so I went with Flanery. Who stars in your fantasy dreams? Who do you think Max is growling at? How in the hell are they going to get to Charlotte?! I already have the next two chapters written so it shouldn't take me so long to update as long as RL leaves me the fuck alone. Oh, if you want to follow me on twitter, I'm squeaky_hickey but I gotta warn you - all I do is Rooker it up in almost every tweet. :) Thank you SO much for reading! Please, PLEASE review! **_


	13. Chapter Twelve

**_A/N: I had some issues with my PC getting on fanfiction website so I had to to put it up by using my iPad which was NOT fun. Is anyone else having this problem? It won't even let me go to the website on my PC. Ugh! _**

**_Anyways, thank you all for reading! Reviews are awesome! I'll try to post the next one fairly quickly if I can get this shit to work. _**

**Sorry about any grammatical errors.**

**Chapter Eleven**

Max's growl grew more menacing as the seconds ticked by. Quickly, Emma pulled up her pants and stepped closer to Max so she could grab his collar so he didn't bolt at whatever the threat was coming at them. If it was one of those zombies, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if one took a big bite out of her dog. Plus, what if animals could turn into them? _Holy shit_. No, she refused to watch her dog turn into a zombie.

A snap of a twig on the ground confirmed that there was definitely something out there and it was heavy. The light from the flashlight grew dull as she shone it from one spot to the other, hoping to see a sweet doe or better yet, some sort of idiot cow. Instead, about ten feet away from her, she caught sight of a pair of human eyes attached to a husky, unshaven face. She nearly screamed but instead, she back peddled and fell into that suspicious patch of weeds that Max had just relieved himself on.

"Mother fucking shit hole of a god damn…" Emma struggled to get up, while holding onto her now-snarling canine, and groaned when the air hit her rump slightly colder than it had been seconds ago. She got ahold of the flashlight and shone it in the same place where she'd seen the man, hoping that he was still in the same spot. Luckily, he was and he was holding his hands up in an I-mean-no-harm sorta way. He looked to be about her age but worse for wear with a five day beard and in serious need of a bath. The exhaustion in his eyes was evident as was the fear of the growling dog she was holding back.

"I'm sorry to startle you, Miss," he said, calmly, "but I was lookin' for the highway."

Emma didn't realize she was holding her breath until her lungs started burning. "Uh…you're almost there."

He smiled. "I-I'm Joe and I don't mean ya any harm, I assure you."

"Well, nice meeting you, Joe," Emma said, starting to back away and hissing at Max to follow her before he ripped her fingers off her hand. "I've got two big men waiting for me up there and they have, uh, some weapons so don't follow me."

Joe actually smiled. "You wouldn't happen to have any water, would ya?"

This made her uncomfortable because she wasn't naïve enough to believe that everyone was good but it was hard for her to refuse water to someone who really needed it. She could give him the water and point him toward the highway and he could also end up pulling a gun on them and robbing them blind. Or hurting one of them. But he could also just be a nice guy looking for water while the world was going to hell in a hand basket.

"Why are you out here, wandering around?" she asked.

He took a step toward her, slowly. "I walked through the woods, from the city."

Emma's eyes widened. "From Athens?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied.

"And they just let you?"

He smiled. "I take it that you want to get into Athens."

She shuffled on her feet a little. "Maybe."

He took another step toward her, close enough for her to see how tattered his clothes were and the bruises on his forearms. If he was lying and he hadn't walked through the woods from Athens, then he had certainly been through the ringer in some form or another.

"I'll make a deal with you," he suggested. "Some water and somethin' to eat for a backwoods route into town."

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Merle. "Hey! Sugar Tits! Ya been down there for a while! Ya backed up er somethin?"

Emma shot Joe a tight smile. "Don't get the wrong idea; he's a sweetheart of a man. Very protective."

Joe went first toward the fire and the two "sweetheart" men of hers rose from their seats in a jiffy when they spotted him. Merle pulled a shotgun out from somewhere and Daryl pointed a pistol at the guy. Emma nearly wet her pants; she wasn't sure how Joe held it together since the guns were pointed at him. His hands shook as he held them up again in a non-threatening manner and Emma went past him, still holding onto her dog.

"The hell is this?" Merle asked, pointing his gun at Joe. "Ya go ta take a piss and ya come back with some asshole?"

"He came out of the woods," she explained. "He said that he walked through the woods from Athens."

Merle and Daryl glanced at each other.

"I can show ya how to get into the city," he said. "But I don't know why in the hell ya'd wanna go in there."

"It's bad?" Emma asked, sitting down on the grass with Max.

Joe got a haunted look in his eyes. "It's hell."

Emma grabbed a water bottle off the ground and tossed it at the guy. "Are…are there lots of infected people in the city?"

"Well, let's put it this way—you think that you sneak into the city and your biggest problem is the law enforcement then you'd be wrong." He twisted off the water bottle cap and took a long, healthy pull from it. "All they're doing is keeping the sick contained until they can unload something nuclear on top of it. That's the cure that they keep talkin' about."

Emma's heart constricted in her chest. "How do you know?"

He chugged the rest of the bottle. "Ya got anything to eat?"

"Why should we believe all this shit?" Daryl asked with the pistol still aimed at the stranger's head. Emma tossed a couple granola bars across the fire at him. "How did ya manage ta get outta there if it's as bad as ya say it is?"

With shaky fingers, he tore open the wrapper and closed his eyes as he bit into it. "I got no reason to lie about it."

"Yeah, so how did ya get out?" Merle asked, still holding onto his gun but at least pointing it toward the sky instead of human skull.

"I was just gonna wait it out, like everyone else but I overheard some top-notch military guy talking over the radio about the situation. That's when I found out about the bomb they were gonna drop. I ran like hell into the woods and since I grew up out here, I knew the area pretty well." He opened up the second granola bar and stuffed it into his mouth. "I could show ya an even easier way to get in, if ya want."

Emma swallowed something heavy. "How long did it take for you to get through the woods after you left?"

Joe shrugged and licked melted chocolate off his dirty fingertips. "About 24 hours. It would have been sooner if I hadn't run into so many…infected."

Daryl cut his eyes to his brother and Merle reciprocated. They had always had their own secret little language that frustrated the hell out of Emma but she didn't have time to sit and try to decipher it. This guy, no matter how fishy his story might be, had information that she needed in order to get to her daughter.

"Okay, so let's hear it," she said. "How do we get into the city?"

He coughed dryly and shook his empty water bottle. She tossed him another one, and as he cracked it open, Emma glanced at Merle who was giving her a quit-fucking-giving-him-shit look. Daryl was pouting his usual pissed off countenance complete with a sneer and narrowed eyes.

"Well, ya just go down this road, turn right at the big, broken barn on the corner and go for about two miles 'till ya reach a fork in the road. You'll go left at the fork and you'll want to pull over somewhere around the river. You go dead east and you'll hit town about a mile into the walk."

Merle leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "I think we should take ya with us ta make sure tha' you're tellin' tha truth."

Joe audibly gulped. "Look man, I ain't got any reason to lie to ya! I swear! Why the hell would you want to go into that…place, anyhow? You'll just end up getting yourselves killed."

That set the mood for the rest of the night. Emma gave Joe another bottle of water, leaving her with only two left, before he left and snuck him her bag of beef jerky. She hoped he was telling the truth; if he was, then he was their key to reaching Charlotte. For that, she was grateful.

After they ate the lukewarm beans in silence, Emma took a second romp into the trees. She came back to hear Merle and Daryl arguing on the other side of the Chevy. She almost closed herself up in her SUV until she heard Daryl say something about the "crazy woman" which had to have been a reference for her. Quietly, she crept around her car to where she could hear them better and lowered herself to the ground.

"What about the money?" Merle hissed. "If we don't help her fetch this niece of hers, we'll be out over twenty grand!"

"Ya know better than I do that money isn't gonna mean nothin' ta anybody fer a long-ass time," he growled. "Ya heard what tha' guy said!"

"Who knows if that guy was tellin' the truth er not, lil' brother! He coulda been talkin' outta his ass for all we know!"

Daryl made a noise. "People are risin' from the dead, Merle! This world is goin' ta shit and we're gonna end up gettin' killed for this…niece of hers tha' I don't even think exists!"

"Whadda ya mean, 'don't exist'? Ya think she's lyin'?" Merle asked. Emma rolled her eyes because Merle knew that she was lying.

Silence filled the night for a minute. "I dunno what ta think. I know that she's hidin' somethin' and it's gonna get us killed. We should jus' take off right now and let her go on her own rescue mission. Fuck her! Let 'er get 'erself killed fer nothin'!"

Before Merle could speak, Emma stepped out of the shadows and cleared her throat. Both of them turned to her and waited to hear her scream at them, call them names and accuse them of something that they weren't guilty of. Instead, she breathed back the tears and hoped for a strong voice because this was going to suck.

"Daryl is right." The hope for a strong voice fell on deaf ears because she sounded tired and broken. "This world isn't going to respect money for a long, long time so it's pointless for you guys to stick around for that purpose." Daryl looked at her suspiciously, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop; Merle was strung tight, waiting to attack if she were to mention the real reason for the rescue mission. "I do need help getting in and getting someone out but I don't expect you to risk your life for her if you…" A tear fell from her eye and she brushed it off her cheek quickly. Anxiety and stress formed a heavy ball in her stomach and suddenly, her eyes were so much heavier than they were a minute ago. "Thank you for helping me get this far and if you're not here in the morning, I'll understand."

Before Daryl could throw out an accusations or Merle, any colorful insults, she climbed into her SUV with Max and lay down on the back seat. She could hear the murmur of the two male voices outside but she was too tired to care. Before she let her mind drift into the blackness of sleep, she wondered if her mother and Charlotte were still alive or if they were one of…them.

Emma was sleeping so well that she didn't hear the roar of the truck engine as it pulled out of the grass a few hours later, just as the sun rose in the sky.

* * *

The heat of the sun in addition to the horrible nightmare Emma was having, woke her up in a puddle of sweat and tears. Max was whining and panting as he stared at her from the front seat and started wagging his tail when he noticed her eyes open. She sat up, wiped her eyes and tore open the side door so Max could get out and get some fresh air. Groaning, she put her hand on the sore spot on the back of her head, hoping that she'd remembered to bring her sunglasses with her. As she leaned forward to search for them and her cell phone, she noticed the empty space in front of her vehicle where the Chevy used to be parked. Immediately, the lack of sleep in addition to the emotions made a sob burst out of her chest. Then another. And another.

When she was all cried out and a fitting get-your-ass-in-gear pep talk had been issued aloud, she slid on her sunglasses and grabbed her cell phone off the floor. She had a little battery left but the signal was completely dead—not a surprise but she had hoped…

After going to the bathroom and taking a baby wipe to the back of her neck and armpits, she got Max into the car and started out following Joe's directions. She found the barn and the fork in the road but after she turned left, there was no sight of the river.

"Dammit!" She'd driven back and forth for miles, looking for any signs of the river. If only Daryl and Merle had stuck around long enough for their survival instincts to have located the river. The only thing she could do was make an educated guess. She knew which way was East, thanks to the built in compass in her car and she was on the right road so she couldn't be too far off. Picking a spot as good as any, she pulled over into a field and backed in as far as she could go. If things were as bad as Joe said, people would be itching to steal anything and everything they could get their hands on, including a gas guzzling SUV.

Keeping an eye on her surroundings, she packed a small duffel bag full of things she thought she might need: Her last bottle of water, the rest of her jerky and granola bars and some extra clothes. She didn't have anywhere to put her daddy's hunting knife so she decided to stick the leather case enclosing it into the waistband of her jeans. After careful consideration, she decided to bring her bow even though she wasn't sure it would be useful. She'd gotten fairly decent at hitting a bale of straw but she wasn't sure if she could shoot a moving target, not to mention a human.

"You ready, handsome?" she asked Max as she bent down next to him. "Just promise me something, okay?" He ran his tongue up her cheek and into her ear. She winced at the unintentional wet willie he'd just given her. "If we get into trouble and I have no hope of…of getting out alive, just run, okay? Run like hell and…and go find another family to take care of you. Be careful on who you trust though because people can be really weird." She hesitated and ran a hand over his head. "I'm glad that you're going on this journey with me, buddy. I don't know who else I'd rather choose as my partner." She tried hard not to think about the two Dixons on their way to God knows where in that moment.

Emma walked in the direction that she thought was east for the next hour, hoping that any minute she'd come across some sign of a river or the town. All she came across was trees, trees and more trees. Sweat was rolling down her forehead, her Nike's were caked in mud and her stomach was selfishly complaining about the lack of food she'd given it in the past few hours. It wasn't long before she become frustrated and the exhaustion, once again, made her a little weepy. The fact that she'd told Charlotte that she'd be there hours ago was killing her, especially knowing that she was supposed to wait for her to arrive.

"And now I'm fucking lost in the woods," she cried.

Sitting down beside a tree, she leaned her head back on the bark and ignored the pain that shot through it when her sore spot hit the rough wood. With a tired sigh, she closed her eyes and blew out a long, desperate sigh. Max lie down beside her and put his chin on her thigh, looking just as defeated as she felt.

Emma didn't mean to fall asleep but she did—fast and hard. Her dream—which was more like a memory—was familiar: Running from someone with a ten year old Charlotte by her side, finding the sanctuary of a closet. She closed the door quietly as she sat down in the far corner with the whimpering little girl in her arms. Shushing her softly, she rocked her as much as the small space could afford her to. The stomping of feet, the angry shouts and threatening promises made by a madman on a rampage caused Charlotte to cry into Emma's shoulder. It was that moment that Emma silently promised Charlotte that never again would she put her in this situation; never again would she have something to fear on account of a bad decision her mother made.

At the sound of a deep growl, Emma's eyes snapped open and her breathing quickened. Max was standing in front of her, and almost on top of her, snarling at what she assumed was a biter. The assumption came from the cloudy eyes, chomping jaw and chunk of flesh it was missing from its lower right leg. He was close but she had time to grab her duffel and get to her feet. She fumbled with the hunting knife just as Max began to bark at the thing. Cursing, she back-peddled and finally managed to get the knife out of its pouch just as the sound of a groan came from behind her. Turning on her heel she held the knife at an awkward right angle, her arm feeling more than just a little exposed to the biter's teeth. Luckily, this one was a smaller woman who had obviously been eaten quite a bit before she came back.

Taking a deep breath, she decided that this was the point in her life when she proved whether she had the balls to do this on her own or not. If she couldn't take out this little biter with a handicap, how could she take on a whole city? With as much effort as she could muster, she jumped toward the biter and plunged the knife into the top of her skull. The sensation of feeling a blade go through skin, bone and brain was not a good one; in fact, it was downright unsettling but that didn't overshadow the fact that she'd just killed her first biter on her own.

Emma grinned in satisfaction and pride. That was, until the cold, gray hands of the fleshy-leg biter swiped at her from behind and nearly knocked her over. She screamed as Max snapped at the thing, confusing it on who would be the tastiest snack. Apparently Emma won because it went toward her with its arms stretched and teeth clicking together loudly. She stabbed at it with the knife but this wasn't as successful as the little one she'd killed just seconds ago. This time, her aim was poor and she completely missed, burying the dull blade in the thing's shoulder.

"Fuck!" she screeched and figured the only thing to do was run like hell. "Max! Fuss!"

She wasn't sure if the dog heard her or not but she didn't have time to pat her leg or baby him; she screamed his name again, grabbed her duffle off the ground and ran. Spotting another one in the direction she was going, she made a sharp turn and was relieved to see her dog running beside her. With her bow, heavy across her back she thought about stopping and trying to pull an arrow out of her bag but she didn't have time. They were everywhere.

"Shit!" she yelled after spotting another one coming toward her. The shuffling in this one was at a minimum which made her panic because it was going to be hard to maneuver around him and his other friends with how much better he was moving. Before she knew it, she was surrounded with nowhere to go… but up. Looking around, she spotted a perfect climbing tree and ran for it.

When she got to the bottom, she took a look at Max who was watching the threats come at them from all directions. The professionals who'd trained him for her hadn't taught him a word for "run like your ass is on fire" so she improvised.

"Max! Go! Run! Go!" She shooed him away with her hand but instead of running, he looked at her like she was nuts and continued growling at the monsters coming toward them. With a grimace, she pushed at him with her foot and yelled at him again. This time, he backed off a little and looked between the biters—who were about ten feet away—and Emma. She waved her hand again. "GO!"

Then she started climbing as fast as her tired legs could carry her. She tore up her palms, ripped a hole in her upper thigh, courtesy of a cut branch and scraped her cheek on the bark of the tree but when it was all and done, she was twelve feet off the ground. And safe. Looking around desperately on the ground, Emma saw no signs of her dog but the biters were congregated at the bottom of the tree like they were all thirteen year old girls and she was Justin Bieber. She wondered briefly if that was what the Biebs felt like when he was being chased by screaming teenage fans. Somehow, she doubted it. Wiping the blood off her cheek, she spotted her duffle at the bottom of the tree being stepped on by her blood thirsty "fans". Taking a deep breath, to restore her heart rate, she took stock of the situation.

"All I have to do is wait," she said to herself, "for someone to come along and…kill all—" she did a quick head count. "—eight of those dudes down there. Then, I'll be home free."

Her desire to sob, yet again, was cut off by the distant sound of a dog's bark. And then she couldn't help but smile.

Had it been three days? No, two. Actually, it had just been eight hours that Emma had been stuck in a tree in an effort to stay alive. But the sun was giving her a fucking head ache, her torn-up leg wouldn't stop bleeding and her crotch was one big aching mess from straddling the tree limb. All eight biters were still clawing at the tree like six hours hadn't just passed by; they were relentless. She even tried singing to them at one point, and then she went into her entire life story—beginning at moving to Milledgeville and ending at the point where she was currently. They didn't seem to care. At all.

She'd even gotten bored enough to name them. The tall guy, who'd attempted to climb the tree several times and failed miserably was Shaq; the short guy who looked like he may have been Asian in his living life was Shortround; the one missing the lower half of his jaw was Jerry; the bald dude with the missing ear was Van Gogh; the pretty one with hardly any flesh wounds was Brad Pitt; one looked exactly like George from Seinfeld so that one was obviously George; Laurel and Hardy were last because they were quite the comical pair, always pushing at each other to be the first one to get to the possible flesh dinner. Her knife was taunting her, sticking out of Hardy's shoulder and wiggling around each time he reached up the tree for her. Or was that Laurel. Who the fuck knew anymore.

Emma sighed as Shaq made another sad attempt to climb up and get her. "Shaq, I told you that is never going to work. Your right leg is not in good shape. What happens to the rest of the season if you seriously injure yourself?" She laughed sadly at her own joke and tried to adjust her position so her butt didn't ache so badly. "Anybody down there want to hand me my duffle bag?" Chomp. Chomp. Groan. Chomp. "No? Come on! I'll cut off an ear and toss it down to ya!" Again, she found her own humor really fucking amusing. "Oh, Lord, I'm going to die up here, aren't I?"

The only thing that kept her from cracking was hope; thinking that eventually, they would give up or something else would lull them away. However, as the day turned into evening, her hope and humor about the situation turned into anger and grief. Every time fucking-Shaq tried to climb the tree, she didn't find humor in it anymore.

"Don't you idiots ever give up? Even if I fucking die up here, I'm gonna make sure that I stay right where I am so that you don't get any of me! None, you hear! You're not eating me EVER! Fuck you!" She wanted them to argue back, flip her off or retreat like a normal human being. But all her screaming did was attract a couple stragglers that she didn't have the heart to name; they got the lovely labels of "Zombie One" and "Zombie Two" which was a shame because the naming thing was the only thing that had kept her entertained for the past eight hours. All ten of them clawed at the tree with the same enthusiasm as they had the entire day. They didn't get tired or bored or even have the passing thought that this whole groaning-and-reaching-for-the-meat-in-the-tree idea wasn't very productive. The whole ordeal made her realize that these things were not human beings anymore; they were shells being filled with some evil virus that controls some primitive part of the brain. Not that she had any doubt to the whole thing before since she'd almost gotten eaten three…no, four times.

Emma had grown tired and hungry and her leg hurt like a bitch but there was no rescue in sight. It didn't take long for the sun to completely disappear behind the horizon and the chilly air added another problem to the mix. She shivered and wished again for that duffle—that was now being trampled on by Zombie One—which contained a long sleeve t-shirt and good God, her last bit of water. Suddenly, she grew exhausted and weary and she felt her eyes grow so heavy that she couldn't help but let them drift closed as she leaned her forehead on the rough bark.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mom." Her voice was such a sweet sound that it drew a little smile out of Emma even though she'd never been more miserable in her life. "If you fall asleep, you'll fall. And you don't wanna fall because, well, it wouldn't be pretty."

"Maybe I'm ready to just…let go," Emma replied.

Charlotte made a noise. "Don't be so damn dramatic. You've been through worse shit than this."

Emma grinned even though it made the scratches on her cheek stretch and crack. "You're right but nobody was trying to eat me then."

"No, but somebody was trying to kill you and would have if you hadn't gotten out when you had." Even though Emma was reluctant to do so, since she was positive that opening up her eyes would make the precious fantasy disappear, she did it anyway. When she saw a grinning, beautiful Charlotte staring back at her, she let go of a sob that surprised even Emma. Charlotte was perched in the tree, wearing a light blue dress and no shoes; her blond hair was pulled back into a soft pony tail and her blue eyes shone like crystals. "Could it have killed you to put me in a more conventional outfit?"

"I love that dress," Emma laughed, wetly. "It was your—"

"Graduation dress, I know," Charlotte deadpanned. "I hate dresses."

Emma reached out toward her and Charlotte obliged by grabbing onto her hand. And Emma thanked God for giving her such a vivid imagination because she could even feel the body heat coming off of imaginary Charlotte. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she started to do that horrible hiccupy thing that happened only when something upset her at her point of exhaustion.

"I don't know how I'm going to get out of this, baby," Emma cried. "I..this…"

Charlotte squeezed her mom's hand. "Do you not have faith in my father? What was his name? Daryl? Could you find anyone with a more redneck name to procreate with? Jeesh!"

"Shut up," Emma said, a smile tweaking at her cracked lips. "It's not like I did it on purpose and he's not so bad."

The young girl scoffed. "Not so bad? Really? He let you wander off into zombie infested woods to search out his own flesh and blood without him?" Charlotte sputtered out a humorless giggle. "Yeah, not so bad. He's probably off screwing his cousin and mounting animal heads on the wall, and not even giving us a second thought."

A defensive streak ran through Emma and she straightened on the branch. "He doesn't even know about you. I told him that I needed to go rescue my niece."

"You don't have a niece."

"I know that!" Emma scratched at her wounded cheek, hoping that it wasn't getting infected. "I think he knew that too. He knew that I was lying and didn't trust me enough to come with me."

"Why didn't you tell him?" she asked, raising her perfect light-brown eyebrows.

Emma shrugged. "I made a deal with Merle."

"You made a deal with Merle?! Where has that ever gotten you? Remember that time when you were eleven and he promised you that if you caught ten frogs, that he'd make you a hearty supper of frog legs? See where that got you?" If Emma hadn't been holding her imaginary hand, Charlotte would have crossed her arms over her chest. "An evening wasted on wallowing in a ditch and an empty stomach."

"How did you know about that?" Emma asked. "I never told you about that!"

The blonde pointed to herself with her thumb. "Figment of your imagination, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

"Anyway, the point is that you should never make deals with the devil and Merle is as close as they come to the devil." Charlotte had a point which, in turn, meant that Emma had made a point to herself through a hallucination. Damn, this sort of thing was confusing. "How's the head?"

"Woozy."

"You should really get that gash on your leg treated." Charlotte leaned over gracefully and peeked at Emma's thigh. "That looks like it might need stitches."

"Yeah, let me just take a drive to the emergency room," Emma deadpanned. "Hey, instead of reminding me of all my woes, why don't you at least help me think about something else for a while."

Charlotte smiled. "I have an idea. You remember that song that we sang last Christmas?"

"The Christmas of Paternity Past?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "No, the one before that when we still lived in Chicago. We used to drive Gram crazy with that song." A pang of pain shot through Emma's heart at the mention of her mom. "What was the name of that song?"

"Jingle Bells?"

The giggle that erupted from Charlotte was innocent and light and like music. "No, the other one—the duet."

"Home," Emma answered.

"Yeah! Let's sing it! It'll cheer you up!"

As crazy as it sounded, singing with Charlotte in the past had always put a smile on Emma's face no matter what she was going through at the time. Her daughter had a sweet, melodic voice and Emma had a raspy, disturbing voice which typically made their performances—only done for family—quite entertaining. It was one of those if-you-don't-laugh-you're-gonna-cry kinda deals.

"Okay but no whistling. It's too cheery," Emma conceded.

Charlotte whistled anyway, shrugging as her mom gave her the stink eye. With a twinkle in her eye, she started singing, "Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa; not the way that I do love you."

"Well, holy moley me-oh-my, you're the apple of my eye; girl, I never loved one like you," Emma retorted in her God-awful rasp.

The young blonde's smile grew as she continued, "Man, oh, man, you're my best friend. I'll scream it to the nothingness. They're ain't nothin' that I need."

"Well, hot 'n heavy, pumpkin pie, chocolate cake and Jesus Christ; there ain't nothin' please me more than you."

As they sang the chorus together, Emma started to forget that ten dead motherfuckers were eager to eat her at the bottom of the tree. All she focused on was Charlotte's smile and her voice and the way she rocked her shoulders back and forth to the rhythm of the song. If she was going to do anything, it was get out of this damn tree and get to her daughter. As the end of the song neared, the smile on Char's face turned sad and almost regretful; her hand started to loosen and slip out of Emma's which made her stop singing.

"Charlotte…don't… you'll fall," Emma whispered.

"It's okay," she replied as she started to lean slowly on the branch. "I love you, Mom. No matter what."

"No! Stay with me! Stay! Don't—"

With one last meaningful glance, Charlotte slid off the branch and as her light blue dress flowed in the air, she fell to the ground, disappearing in mid-air. Emma reached for her, too far gone into the illusion to think twice about what she was doing, and tried desperately to catch her child from falling into the grasp of ten flesh-eating monsters. In the process, she lost her own balance and before she knew it, she too tumbled out of the tree toward the threat below.

* * *

**A/N: Now, where did those Dixon boys go and how pissed are you at Daryl? I know that Merle letting Daryl make the decision to leave was pretty weird but we'll get into that in the next chapter. My next one follows Daryl and Merle to wherever the hell they ran off to. **

**So, How do you think Emma is going to get herself out of this one? Thanks for reading and if you leave a review, I'll kiss you! Or not.**

**I forgot to add that the song being sung by imaginary Charlotte and Emma is "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes. Amazing song. YouTube it. You'll thank me later :)**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_**A/N: Yay! I can use my PC again! I feel like the only person on the planet that still uses a PC...lol.**_

_**Shout Outs:**_

_**LampPostInWinter: Thank you for your kind words! This is a long one, so enjoy!**_

_**Brazen Hussy: The fact that you laughed at my words makes my heart go all pittery pattery. Thank you for your review!**_

_**Maawwge: Thank you for reviewing! Emma's tough. She'll make it. I hope. Maybe. If not, I'm sure the Dixon brothers are up to something interesting. ;)**_

_**Lilone1776: I always adore your reviews. You give me so much love and feedback that I just want to give you a big old hug after I read them. Thank you so much. Reviews like yours give me inspiration to write :) **_

**_Well, here we get to see what Merle and Daryl are thinking. I LOVE writing Merle's POV. Maybe there's a little Merle inside me...I'd prefer for it to be a big Merle inside of me but... well, never mind. I'm sure you catch my drift. :)_**

**_Also, I edited it but if you read my last chapter before I did so, the song that Emma and Charlotte sing is called "Home" by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros. It's an amazing song that you can't help but snap your fingers to. Youtube it. You'll love it, I swear. :)_**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

The silence that filled Daryl's trusty, old Chevy in the half hour since they'd left a sleeping Emma on a back road in Georgia was thick with tension. Merle couldn't understand Daryl's anxiety since he'd let Daryl think it was his idea to leave in the first place; he was only happy to play into the whatever-you-think-is-best persona. Merle had never dabbled in that sorta game before since everything the brothers did was typically his idea, by his direction, but he had to admit that he had been good at playing sheep to Daryl's shepherd.

So, why the hell was it bothering Daryl so much? Merle had never been much of a ponderer so he decided to just ask. "Why tha hell ya over there on tha edge a weepin' like an old lady?"

"Am not," Daryl spat. "Fuckin' tired."

"Somethin's botherin' ya," Merle pointed out. "Yer doin' that leg shake thing an' chewin' on yer fingernails. Ya only do tha' when somethin's botherin' ya." Merle sat up a little straighter, proud of how perceptive he was as a big brother. "Ya know what surprises me 'bout this whole thing?"

Daryl shuffled around in his seat. "Not sure I wanna know."

Merle ignored him. "I think it's damn funny how ya tried ta kick ma ass just yesterday tryin' ta defend tha' woman and now, ya can't wait ta leave her in tha dust." Merle cut his eyes over to Daryl because he was genuinely curious about how his brother ticked when it came to Emma. "Why is tha'?"

After a few moments of silence, Daryl shrugged. "Ain't no way she's gonna go inta tha' city without us. She'll be halfway back ta Milledgeville before we even git ta tha cabin."

Merle clenched his jaw and felt something go a little wiry in his stomach. After the whole discussion of whether to leave or go, he was damn happy to be getting both of their asses out of Athens. His plan had been to make sure that the whole leavin' thing was Daryl's idea or he'd have an angry redneck brother to deal with. Merle didn't care what happened to Emma Whitfield; nor did he care what happened to that daughter of hers even if she was kin. Sure, she'd venture into those woods and probably get herself eaten or maybe, she'd get lucky and actually make it into the city but once she got there… She didn't have a fucking chance. Merle didn't care. Good riddance. So, why was his stomach all upset and his chest all tight? Why did he feel like snorting a line of Coke every time he pictured that woman lying on the ground, being torn apart by the jaws of the dead?

"I need ta pull over," Merle announced. "I gotta get somethin' ta eat."

About ten minutes later, they found a gas station and they pulled into the parking lot. There was a big spray-painted sign that read, "Out of Gas" hanging from the gas pumps and there didn't seem to be anyone working in the little store.

"They ain't even open," Daryl said. "Maybe we'll find something when we get closer to tha city."

"Nah," Merle growled. "I'll be back."

"Where ya—"

Merle cut Daryl off with the slam of his car door and grabbed one of the shotguns out of the back. As he walked toward the little store, he pulled the baggie out of his jacket pocket and frowned at how shaky his hands were. Carefully, he cupped his hands over his eyes and peeked in through the glass to make sure that the place was really empty. Then, without hesitation, he lifted the shotgun and hit the glass with the butt end until it shattered, giving him a nice and easy entry. Merle grinned in the direction of where Daryl sat in his idling truck, imagining all the squeaky little curses coming from the pussy. He was probably flipping his lid, listening for sirens and two seconds away from pissing his tighty-whities.

It took ten minutes for Merle to fill a bag full of junk food, take a piss and snort two lines of sweet, Lady Snow before he stomped out of the store. After he got in the truck and threw the bag at Daryl, he pulled a Twinkie out of his front jacket pocket and stuffed half of it into his mouth. Daryl looked like he'd calmed down but there was still a bit of alertness to his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"The hell was tha'?" Daryl asked.

"Tol' cha," Merle said around a mouthful of processed cake and sugar, "was fuckin' hungry." Daryl snorted but reached inside the bag and Merle watched his eyes light up when he pulled out one of those apple pies that Merle thought tasted like shit. They were his little brother's favorite. He smiled big at his brother as he turned the ignition over. "I ain't nothin' but generous."

They drove for a little while longer, jamming to some Megadeth until they came upon a big Humvee that had pulled over on the side of the road. The military men were outside their vehicles and they appeared to be picking off zombies that were coming out of the nearby woods with rifles. Merle got just a little giddy at the prospect of possibly joining them because that shit looked fun so he pulled over, in spite of Daryl's protests.

"I'll be right back," Merle told him. "Might as well put yer high heels on with all tha bitchin' ya's doin."

"Fuck you," Daryl grumbled and pulled out another nasty-ass apple pie that Merle had snagged for him.

Merle stepped out of the truck, puffing out his chest and feeling nostalgic as he thought back on the days where he donned a uniform and was part of the elite brotherhood of The Marines. That dishonorable discharge was not his fault; that fucker—L.T. or not—deserved that broken jaw. Those couple years he spent behind bars in North Carolina were more than worth it; plus he learned how to do a lot of good shit on the inside. You never know when you might need to fashion a blade out of some saran wrap and a toothbrush.

"Hey, boys!" he said, slowly walking toward them with his hands halfway in the air.

They both turned and looked mildly surprised to see him. Merle recognized the insignia on their uniforms; the bigger of the two was a Captain and the other, a First Sergeant. They kept their guns raised as they turned to him, looking around suspiciously like Merle was the leader of a redneck army that would pop out at any minute and attempt to marry their cousins or force moonshine down their gullets.

"You need to get back in your vehicle, sir," the Captain said authoritatively.

Merle reveled in the enjoyment of a Marine Captain calling him "sir" for just a few moments before he spoke, "Just wanted ta ask tha good men of our nation's Marine Corps a few questions 'bout what tha hell is goin' on." He stopped walking but kept his arms up in a show of good faith, deciding that an approach of ignorance was best suited for this situation. "Ya'll shootin' folks?"

They looked at each other but it was the Captain that addressed the question. "We're clearing out these woods and making sure that the population of infected doesn't spread to other areas. Now if you'd just—"

"Can I help ya?" Merle knew that there was no way in hell that these men would give a civilian a gun but shooting infected people wasn't on his to-do list for the day. What he was searching for was information and he'd have to bond a little to get that from them. "I used ta be in tha Marine Corps myself."

"Sir, we have this under control if you'd just—"

"I was stationed in North Carolina at Pendleton," Merle said, cutting the annoyed Captain off. "Ya ever been ta Pendleton?"

"I'm not going to tell you again to get back in your vehicle and get on with your travels. This is official government business that we are attending to," Captain numb nuts said with a bit of a growl in his tone.

"All right, all right…" Merle held up his hands and started slowly back pedaling to the truck. "Can't I just ask ya one question? From one Marine to another?"

The Captain let out an exasperated sigh. "What?"

"How true is it tha' ya'll are bombin' tha cities?"

With a surprised look on his face, he said, "How did you know that?"

"Heard it through tha grapevine," Merle said with a grin. "I'm sure tha public will be thrilled ta hear tha' our government, the people supposed ta be protectin' us are wagin' chemical warfare on its citizens."

Finally, the scrawny L.T. spoke, "That's not what we're doing and if—"

Captain Numb Nuts lifted his hand to silence his comrade. "What is it that you want to know?"

"Athens? Is it gonna git bombed?" Merle asked.

The big military man shifted his weight from foot to foot. "If I answer your question, will you get the fuck outta here?"

Merle grinned. "Abso-fuckin'-lutely. But ya better git those stragglers there first." He pointed to a few biters that had wandered out of the trees while they'd been talking.

Captain kept his eyes on Merle while the L.T. took all three of them out with one shot to the head. He turned around with a little cockiness to his smirk and he looked at his Captain with pride. Right away, Merle could tell that the scrawny kid had a gay-ass crush on the big man. Hell, they were probably getting busy in the brush before him and Daryl came upon them. The idea of it made Merle visibly grimace and he shook himself to break away from the images that flooded his mind. Why two men would wanna—

"Tomorrow," Captain finally said. "They are dropping napalm on all the major cities across the country tomorrow night after sundown. We're doing the best we can to get all uninfected citizens clear before that happens but…" He took a deep inhale through his nostrils and then spit on the ground beside his boots. Scrawny gay-ass L.T. just about had a meltdown at the manly Captain's display. "Safe travels, sir."

Merle looked closely for signs of distress that would indicate that he was lying but he couldn't find any. He looked upset and disgusted and unnerved by the whole conversation but he seemed to be telling the truth. As Merle walked back to the truck, he couldn't help the fact that his stomach got all wiry again and he was itchin' for another date with Lady Snow. He refused to admit that it had anything to do with a certain woman who was getting herself into a shitload of trouble right about then.

Cause he didn't give a fuck about her. Or her kid. Hell no.

It took a total of three hours and fifteen minutes to get to the little cabin that Merle and Daryl had built themselves over ten years ago. The little log cabin—that didn't have electric or indoor plumbing—was located on the southern border of The Smokey Mountains, just South of Tennessee. There was great hunting in the area, especially since it was illegal because they usually did it inside the Cohutta National Forest. The two men had never been caught hunting illegally, most likely due to their survival instincts and their careful use of noiseless weapons to snag their prey. The best thing they'd ever managed to get was a small black bear that hadn't tasted the best but they got a nice pelt out of it which Merle slept on whenever they stayed at the place. Technically, Daryl had taken the bear down and it hadn't been an easy task without being able to use a rifle, but since Merle was Merle…well, he claimed the thick, black fur as his own.

Ever since Merle had had that conversation on the side of the road with those Marines, he'd been on edge. Daryl took over driving, thinking that Merle's irritability was due to his lack of sleep but Merle's muscles wouldn't relax enough for him to even close his eyes. He just kept fucking thinking about that damn woman, venturing into the city and getting herself blown to pieces. It wasn't that he felt guilty or that he actually cared; in fact, he had no clue why he'd stress himself out about that shit because if she did get blown up or eaten, it wouldn't make one iota of difference in his life. Nope. Not one iota. At all.

"Ya hungry?" Daryl asked as they walked up the small front yard toward the cabin door.

"Leave me the fuck alone," Merle grumbled. "Ain't in tha mood ta be taken care of by ma pussy of a brother."

"The fuck is wrong wit' you?" Daryl asked. "Ya been actin' like a bitch in heat ever since we ran inta those two Army guys a couple hours ago. The hell'd they say ta ya?"

Merle sneered and slapped Daryl on the back of the head. In response, Daryl punched Merle in the arm hard and then it was on. Nobody did physical violence to Merle Dixon and walked away clean. The two brothers traded punches, swear words and empty promises to kill the other one in their sleep. When they'd exhausted themselves, they sat in a panting, bloody heap on the muddy ground.

"Ya gonna tell me what's goin' on?" Daryl asked as he wiped blood off a cut by his eye. "Cause I ain't stayin' up here with ya if I hafta sleep with one eye open all the fuckin' time."

"Fuck off, ya drama queen," Merle grumbled.

Daryl got up and wiped his hands on his pants. "I ain't got time fer this shit."

As he watched his little brother stomp into the house, he thought about how sensitive his brother was and he couldn't help those thoughts from venturing into that forbidden "Daddy" territory. If Daryl found out about the kid, he'd for sure go back to Athens like a bat outta hell cause it was the one of the things that Merle had pounded into his brain since he was just a toddler—you watch out for your blood. And as much as the older redneck hated to admit it, the kid was his blood. But now, since the woman had most likely gone off and gotten herself killed, Daryl would never find out about the kid. Most likely, they'd both be killed and Daryl would go on with his life, blissfully ignorant. So, why the fuck did Merle feel so much like shit? While it was true that Merle didn't have a vulnerable side and rarely did any emotion except for anger pass through his system but he wasn't a complete monster. He loved his brother and he'd do anything for him which was the point of keeping that damn secret in first place. But that was before the dead started rising and cities started getting napalmed. Growling, he yanked handful of grass out of the earth and threw it like a three year old who had just gotten his favorite toy taken away. Ahh…there was that blessed anger that he was so familiar with; fuck this guilt shit.

And that was the attitude that Merle had decided to embrace as he got onto his feet, talked himself into a better mood and walked into the cabin where Daryl was putting together a beef jerky sandwich. He ignored his big brother as he pulled the tough meat apart with his teeth; Merle started putting together his own sandwich looking sideways at the younger redneck.

"Too bad we ain't got no mayo," Merle said. "These things are pretty good wit' mayo."

Daryl ignored him and kept right on chewing. He knew that the small talk was his brother's way of apologizing but sometimes, he just needed a little more time before accepting it.

"Wonder if this is what we taste like when those dead fuckers bite inta us," Merle pondered. Daryl stopped chewing long enough to give Merle the stink eye because that was not what you wanted to hear when you were eating. "I mean, ya think we'd be pretty tough…well, at least I would be since I got so much muscle." Merle flexed his biceps to prove his point. "In fact, I bet I'd be damn right delicious."

Daryl snorted. "I bet ya'd taste like rotten road kill."

"Ain't all road kill rotten?" Merle ran a hand over his chest as he puffed it out. "And no, I'd taste like prime rib."

Both brothers thought about that for a few beats because neither of them had ever tried prime rib but they imagined that it was quite a few steps above road kill.

"Doubt it," Daryl finally said and then added, "more like horse rectum."

"You'd know, wouldn't ya," Merle goaded.

They both made eye contact and let out a simultaneous snort. That's how Dixons got over their disagreements. They finished their beef jerky sandwiches and sat on their porch to down a couple of warm beers as they watched the sun move west in the sky. It was almost four o'clock and they had a lot to do before the sun went down so they didn't starve or freeze that night. That time of year, the days were warm but at night, in the mountains, it was the opposite; sometimes, in the middle of August, you'd get a little chilly.

"We'd better git ta work," Merle announced after he'd downed the last of his beer. "Got a lotta shit ta do."

Daryl grunted. "Ya think she still went?"

Merle cut his eyes to his brother. "What?"

"Ya think she still went inta Athens after we left?"

Then all the pissed off feelings that Merle had nearly shaken completely off, returned tenfold…just like that. At the mention of that fuckin' woman, his muscles tensed, his stomach turned and he wanted to punch somethin' hard enough to bust his knuckles. And as much as he tried, he couldn't help a mental image from seepin' into his mind showin' her on the ground and being ripped apart by the dead. Anxiety and stress crept back into his body and he needed to snort a line more than anything else in this world.

Why the fuck did it matter to Daryl if she went into that hell hole or not? Why did he have to keep bringing her up when he was so damn anxious to get rid of her in the first place? And lastly, why did he always have to make Merle's life so much fucking harder than it should have been? Merle didn't do feelings and he didn't worry about people; why couldn't his brother be the same damn way?

"Fuck tha' woman!" Merle said, getting up so roughly that his lawn chair toppled backwards. "God dammit!"

Daryl looked wide-eyed at his brother as he stomped off the porch, grabbed an axe and started headed for the woods. About one hundred yards in, he picked a big-ass tree and started chopping so hard that after about thirty seconds, he was already forming blisters on his hands. With every impact the axe made on the tree, he grunted and hoped that when that tree fell, he didn't feel so fucking angry anymore. Sure enough, the tree collapsed to the ground minutes later but he still had the strong desire to destroy something so he dropped the axe onto the ground and reached into his pocket. After some desperate searching, he found a clean cut tree stump to neatly line up his coke. When he snorted it through his nostrils, he closed his eyes and let the tension seep out of his muscles; that shit was medicinal, he swore it.

He let his ass plop onto the ground and he leaned back, enjoying the feeling of his lady running swiftly through his veins. Damn, she never let him down and he'd never let her down, neither. She was—

The face of something particularly ugly appeared upside down in his vision and he nearly giggled—until it started snapping its jaws and reaching down for him. He rolled sideways as fast as his tired body would allow it to and snatched the axe off the ground. The thing went after him, growling and snarling hungrily; one ear was missing and it had a huge gouge in its side. It was…well, used to be a man; a hunter, by the looks of the thick camouflage jacket and bright orange hunting hat that sat crooked on his head.

Merle growled right back and held the axe in front of his chest, gripped in his powerful hands. He dodged right as the thing reached for him and with a mighty swing, he embedded it in to the back of its skull. It toppled forward and fell face down on the ground.

"Ya ain't gonna eat 'ol Merle, ya freak-a-nature," Merle growled, panting from the exertion.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the mental image out of his head of that huge thing coming at Emma like that. She'd never make it. If she wasn't dead already, she'd be dead by morning.

"Fuck! Why can't I stop thinkin' about tha' woman?!" He shouted to no one in particular however someone very particular was closer than Merle realized and heard him loud in clear.

"Wha' woman?" Daryl asked, glancing at the zombie on the ground.

Merle let out a string of colorful curses before looking at his brother and letting out a giant sigh of resignation. "She's ya kid."

Daryl scrunched up his face in confusion. "Wha'?"

Merle ran his hand over his short hair and kicked the dead thing lying on the ground as hard as he could. At this point, he wasn't even sure why he was telling Daryl this but he wasn't going to think too hard about it. All he knew is that he'd done a lot of stuff in his lifetime that he regretted and keeping this secret from his brother would have been one of them. If it were him, he probably wouldn't have wanted to know but this was Daryl…super sensitive, vulnerable Daryl who would have never forgiven him if he found out after there wasn't anything they could do about it.

"Tha' girl she's goin' after…she's ya kid," Merle mumbled.

"My kid? What are ya…" Daryl trailed off and Merle could practically see the wheels turnin' in his head as he thought about what his older brother was saying. Daryl wasn't as stupid as Merle liked to make others believe; he just sometimes got this real dumb look on his face when he was figuring stuff out. His mouth opened a little and his eyes got all squinty; like somebody who either had to shit but couldn't or somebody that couldn't stop shittin'. That look was all over Daryl's face in quite the remarkable way and Merle knew just the moment to duck because that shitty-thinking face disappeared in an instant. It was replaced with Daryl's angry, temper tantrum face and it was heading straight for him.

Merle dodged Daryl's fist easily, turned and pushed his brother into the ground, face first. Twisting his arm around his back, Merle pushed his face into the thick Georgia mud. "Did ya really think that ya could come at me like tha', dummy? Did ya think tha' ya could take me down when ya've never been able ta take me down before?"

"Git off!" Daryl spat.

"Now, ya listen good—I tol' ya tha' information outta tha goodness of ma heart an' I ain't gonna have ya blamin' me fer this shit. She's tha one tha' didn't tell ya," Merle said, and then leaned down closer to his brother's ear. "Can ya blame 'er for keepin' it from ya?"

"Fuck you!"

Daryl tried to push off the ground, in an effort to roll Merle off of him but he wasn't able to dig his knee into the ground. Merle chuckled and pushed Daryl's cheek deeply into the mud. "Oh no, ya don't; ya ain't gettin' up 'till I say ya can." Merle put his knee into Daryl's back, forcing a pained groaned from the man on the ground but Merle paid no mind—he had a conscious to clear and if it caused Daryl a little back pain, then so be it. "Found out 'bout her when I went over last November for Thanksgivin'. She was there an' I met her by accident."

"How the hell'd ya meet her by accident?" Daryl struggled to get the words out since his chest was being constricted by two hundred ten pounds of redneck. "Tha woman invited us!"

"Tha girl wasn't s'pose ta come, I guess," Merle said. "Anyway, we didn't think it would be a good idea fer ya ta find out 'bout her so we just decided not ta tell ya."

"Both a ya'll or just you?" Daryl accused.

Merle frowned. "Hey now, come on, I'm tellin' ya now, ain't I?" He adjusted his weight a little but didn't ease the knee out of his brother's back. Daryl grunted but didn't complain. "We both agreed on it. Wha' tha hell good would it do fer ya ta find out tha'cha got a grown-ass daughter? Ya'd have some kinda fit an' end up cryin' in a cave somewhere like Uncle Milton did when he ran outta tha' Kentucky whiskey."

Bringing up Uncle Milton was Merle's attempt at lightening the mood because every time the brothers discussed it, the conversation ended with some hearty laughter at their Uncle's expense. The man was a loony alcoholic that came across a crate of whiskey that was being moved out of Kentucky in an illegal manner. That crate lasted the man a good month and when it was gone, something snapped in the guy's brain. He stripped down naked, ran through the fields howling like a wolf and tried to mate with whatever animal he came across. They found him three days later in a cave, shaking and going through DT's like a motherfucker.

The good natured mention wasn't as effective as Merle thought it would be. Daryl struggled again to get up but was only pushed back down by his older brother.

"The hell is tha' s'pose ta mean?" Daryl asked. "I ain't crazy!"

Merle rolled his eyes, suddenly exhausted with the whole situation. "Forget 'bout all tha'," he said. "If I let ya up are ya gonna try to pussy-fist me again or are ya gonna be a good boy?"

"I'm fine," Daryl grumbled.

After one last little shove with his knee, Merle rose up and Daryl hopped up beside him, pacing and glaring at his older brother. Merle held his hands up in a what-the-fuck-now kinda gesture but Daryl didn't really know what to say, it seemed. He just kept pacing and chewing on his fingernails, more pacing, more chewing—Merle had had enough. He was tired and hungry and he needed to smoke some fuckin' weed so he could just chill and enjoy the peace of the woods around them.

"Now ya know," Merle said. "Can we go git somethin' ta eat now?"

More pacing and chewing and that fucked up thinking face that made him look like a dumbass.

"What is there ta think about?" Merle knew exactly what Daryl was thinking and it pained him to no end to think that the food and sleep and weed weren't anywhere in his near future. "The bitch is prob'ly dead by now. Ain't no need ta go even look for her. She ain't even got a gun on her and even if she did, she ain't got enough common sense ta even git her inta tha city." More pacing and chewing. "Forget about her, brother."

Daryl stopped and squinted at Merle. "Why'd ya even tell me for? Ya coulda just let it be but ya didn't."

Merle didn't really have much of an answer for that one. Even though he felt slightly better, there was still a churning in his gut that wasn't sitting right and he had a feeling that he knew what it was. No matter how much he tried to deny it or no matter how much contact he'd had with the girl, there was Dixon kin trapped in a dorm room in Athens. That girl had his own blood running through her veins and Dixons always took care of their blood. When they'd found Uncle Milton in that cave, they wrapped him up in a blanket and carried him home like he was a fucking newborn baby. His daddy had shown more love to that dirty, old alcoholic than he had to his own wife because, crazy or not, that was his brother. They always took care of family.

"Jus' thought ya should know," Merle mumbled.

Daryl snorted. "Ya said that ya met 'er?" Merle nodded. Daryl kicked some dirt on the ground, looking like an awkward twelve year old boy when he asked the next question. "Wha's she like?"

"Hot," Merle answered honestly which earned a scowl from Daryl. "And a smartass. Pretty damn bright too; she could be the first Dixon to graduate from college!" Merle's smile fell as he eyed the dead fucker on the ground. "Well, woulda been…"

Daryl paced a little more and ran his hand through his short hair. "Ain't my fault if they both git themselves bit."

"Damn straight!" Merle agreed.

More pacing and a couple of grunts. "She's tha stupid one tha' didn't tell me tha fuckin' truth."

"Tha's right, brother!" Merle stood up a little taller because he's succeeded in placing all the blame on Emma in the whole holding-back-the-truth thing. "Ya don't owe them anything."

Daryl stopped pacing and nodded his head. "Hell, nah, I don't."

Merle grinned because his life was going to go back to being as normal as it could get with the exception of people lookin' to eat each other.

* * *

An hour and a missing hunting knife later, the Dixon men were back in the old Chevy and heading back to Athens. Daryl was driving with determination written all over his face and Merle was frowning out his window like a petulant child. He obviously hadn't wanted to come and it sure as fuck wasn't his idea but since his brother threatened to go by his self, he felt that same obligation that he'd felt since the kid had been born. That obligation seemed to be braided through that damn bond that made them two feel so protective of each other which meant that there was no way out of this for the older Dixon. But there wasn't anything in the fine print of that obligation that said that he had to do this with a perky little smile on his face.

"Ya sure that ya checked yer goddamn bag?" Merle asked, sneering at his baby brother.

"For the hundredth time, I turned it inside out lookin' for it!" Daryl growled. "Quit yer bitchin'!"

"I ain't ever asked anything a hundred times in my fuckin' life so quit bein' so dramatic, ya fuckin' princess," Merle growled back. "Wha's so special about this knife anyway?"

Daryl squirmed in the driver's seat, feigning a desire to get comfortable but Merle knew the tell-tale signs of an upcoming fib. "I've had it since I was ten; skinned my first deer with it."

Merle made a face. "So?"

More squirming from the driver. "So... it's my favorite fuckin' knife! You ain't got no right gettin' all high-n-mighty on me when it comes to bein' superstitious. 'Member that time ya lost yer lucky pair a underwear?"

It was Merle's turn to squirm. "No, I ain't never had a lucky pair a underwear."

"The ones tha' gotcha outta that speedin' ticket when ya had all that crack hidden under yer seat? An' the same ones that ya kept on ya fer a week straight cause ya said tha' it brought tha' nine point buck yer way and ya was itchin' ta shoot another one? Ya tore my room apart lookin' for 'em! I think tha' ya even teared up a little when ya thought ya'd lost 'em fer good."

"Shut the fuck up! Yer givin' me a goddamn headache!" Merle was agitated and being pissed just pissed him off.

"Shut up 'bout my damn knife then," Daryl grumbled. "We're jus' gonna go back to where we were parked before, find it and drive back."

Merle punched Daryl hard in the arm, making the truck swerve over the middle line for a moment.

"Ow! What was tha' for?"

"Tol' ya ta shut the fuck up," he groused.

The next two hours were painfully silent as Merle continued his pouty tantrum and Daryl focused on keeping his eyes open so he didn't crash the truck. By the time they found the field where they'd parked the night before, it was almost dark. Merle cursed as they piled out of the truck and lifted his arms up into a hard stretch.

"Well?" he asked as Daryl grabbed the flashlight out of the glove box.

"Well, what?"

Merle rolled his eyes. He was so tired that it felt like there were bits of sandpaper all over his eyeballs. "Where'd ya leave the knife, dummy?"

Daryl brought the flashlight toward the grass and instead of searching the space where they'd sat around the campfire the night before, he went over and looked at the tire tracks left behind. He knelt down and ran his fingers over the dirt that was formed into molds of treads from a certain SUV's tires.

"Ain't gonna be able to tell where she went by fingerin' the dirt, ya idiot," Merle grumbled.

Daryl hopped up. "I wasn't…I don't care where she went."

"Ya think I'm an idiot, don't ya?" Merle asked. "Ya think that ya got me fooled because ya gave me some story about a pansy-ass knife? That damn knife is in yer bag in the back of the truck and you know it." Daryl had the gull to appear a little surprised when he pulled his bag out of the back of the truck and sifted through all his crap until he pulled out his favorite hunting knife. There was a pair of dirty underwear wrapped around the leather case and he held the knife up after he untangled them. "Ya came out here ta play hero ta tha' damn woman, didn't ya?"

Daryl didn't deny that he'd come out here for alternative reasons but he did correct Merle's assumption. "I came out here 'cause I got blood trapped in tha' city tha's about ta be bombed tomorrow night."

For the second time in two days, Daryl caused Merle to be genuinely surprised. "What ya talkin' 'bout?"

Daryl squinted and sneered at his brother. "Yeah, you might think tha' I'm the stupid one but yer the one that didn't realize tha' I'd rolled my window down when you were talkin' ta those Army guys shootin' zombies today. I heard wha' they said—tha' the fuckin' Air Force was gonna drop Napalm all over tha city."

Merle sighed. "Well, I guess we should go lookin' for her, then."

Daryl waved him off and started walking past his truck. "Nah, ya can have the truck; yer ass don't wanna be here anyhow so just sit tight. I'll hike it."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Merle grumbled as he rounded the truck and climbed in the driver's side. That's when he noticed that the keys weren't in the ignition but probably stuffed into his brother's pants pocket. Cursing a blue streak, he got back out of the truck and started walking toward the other Dixon's retreating shadowed form. "Git in the damn truck, ya idiot! Can't letcha go out there an' git yerself killed!"

Daryl looked smug as he climbed into the driver's seat of his truck. Merle grumbled yet another curse as the engine turned over and they pulled out onto the road. Under his breath, Daryl recited the directions that the guy had told them the night before. When they found the spot, by the river, where he'd told them to park they saw no signs of Emma's vehicle.

"Maybe she went in and got 'er out already," Daryl mumbled.

"Ya kiddin'? She's either dead or almost dead. Ain't no way tha' woman walked through tha woods, inta that city an' got tha' girl out without the help of a GPS and a working cell phone," Merle said, squinting into the trees lit up by the truck's headlights. "Let's drive back up this way and see if mebbe she parked in tha wrong spot."

"Yeah," Daryl said, shifting gears, "tha's prob'ly more likely."

They drove down the road and back a couple more times and just when they were about to say fuck it and park somewhere so they could start walking, they heard a familiar sound. Glancing at each other, Daryl cut the engine off and they stepped out of the truck.

"I'd know that bark anywhere," Merle mumbled.

"Sounds close," Daryl added.

"Git yer guns and let's go," Merle said looking in the direction of the noise.

As they walked, the familiar sound seemed to be drawn to them as if it knew they were there. Hesitantly, they picked up the pace, keeping a good watch on the dark trees around them. Merle thanked whoever might have been watching over them for the light that the full moon emitted on them. It seemed that they had one thing on their side because just as they seemed to close in on the sound, something shifted a few feet away.

Merle whistled at his brother under his breath and nodded at the biter heading toward them at a slow pace. Daryl followed his eyes and grabbed his hunting knife out of his belt, holding it just like Merle had taught him to so many years ago. As Daryl went after the dead straggler, another one came out from behind a tree, chomping its teeth and groaning as it reached for Merle.

Cursing, Merle jumped back and jammed his own knife into the skull of the creature; he smirked as the thing fell to the ground with a thud. Daryl was pulling his knife out of a third walker's head when Merle heard the groan come from behind him… and it was close. He turned with his knife at the ready but it was too late—the thing took him down. As he fell, he dropped the knife somewhere on the dark ground with a growling curse. The biter lay on top of him, twisting in an effort to stretch its jaw toward Merle's uncovered skin. Working his hands along the things appendages, to keep it from grabbing him, he lost his hold on it and it came within an inch of munching on his forearm. He heard Daryl yell for him but he was too far away. Daryl's hunting knife came out of nowhere and plunged into its neck—something that would kill just about anything except for these fuckers. _Nice fuckin' aim, brother…_

This was it. Merle had thought about death many, many times in his forty two years on this planet—he'd figure that he'd either get shot by a jealous husband or he'd OD in Hank's bathroom back in Milledgeville. The thought of being eaten had never once crossed his mind…until now. This dead motherfucker was gonna bite him and there wasn't anything he could do about it. He only wished that he'd had one more date with Lady Snow before he—

A big ball of fur came out of nowhere, knocking the biter off of Merle in a whoosh. There was growling and groaning and a yelp coming from the rolling bodies on the ground next to him. He sat up and crab-walked out of reach of the fingers still trying to grasp at his leg. The furry ball, that had saved him, got up and took a protective stance in front of Merle, growling and raising his hackles in an effort to intimidate the thing. As smart as the dog was, it didn't realize that it didn't have that fight or flight instinct anymore; all it wanted to do was eat. The thing merely struggled to get up, ignoring the teeth and the deep growl coming from the animal.

Merle whistled at the dog. "Max! C'mere boy!" The dog continued its stance, protective and threatening, as teeth chomped toward it.

"Tha' dog's gonna git itself killed," Daryl said from beside Merle. "Ya got yer knife on ya?"

Merle pulled his second knife out of his boot, trying to hide the fact that his hand was shaking like a bitch. "Here," he said, handing it to Daryl, "make sure ya git it in the brain this time, ya idiot."

Daryl took the knife, aimed and flung it into the biter's brain. It dropped like a sack of potatoes leaving Max feeling a bit confused about what the hell happened. Merle kneeled down and ran his large hand along the dog's back, silently thanking the animal for saving his life. In his whole life, he'd always appreciated animals more than people since they didn't have that learned behavior to be assholes. Animals were driven by nature's purpose—they took care of their young, they killed only when they needed to, and were loyal to a fault. He would always trust an animal more than he would another human being and that dog had just proved his point.

"Let's git outta here b'fore we run inta anymore of them," Daryl murmured as Merle stood up. "Ya think we should camp out somewhere fer the night?"

Merle watched the canine beside him start to walk away, glancing quickly behind him toward the two men. With watchful eyes, Merle started to follow him, ignoring Daryl's question. The two men followed the dog as he led them further south into the woods.

"He know where he's goin?" Daryl asked. "We're headin' away from tha city."

"Why don't ya ask 'em, dumbass," Merle spat, suddenly a little defensive of the dog. "Do ya really think that the Princess knew where she was goin'?"

Daryl replied with a good-point grunt.

They followed the dog for a good half mile, keeping a lookout for biters and keeping as quiet as they could. Max started panting and he sped up but stopped suddenly when they reached the top of a hill.

"Holy shit," Merle hissed and ducked down, giving Daryl a hand gesture to do the same. "Max, git back here."

The dog spun an excitable circle and fell back a little but still stood in front of the brothers as they lowered themselves close to the ground. At least ten biters were gathered at the bottom of a tree, growling and groaning in their subconscious state of hunger. At first, Merle was positive that in the middle of that group of monster's was Emma's body, picked clean of any flesh; but then he noticed, in the bright light of the moon, that they weren't eating but reaching for something. They were clawing at the tree and stretching their pale, rotten fingers up the tree's spine.

Merle's eyes found her shadowed form just as Daryl whispered, "She's up on tha' branch."

Max whined a little and Merle shushed him. "We gotta kill all them an' quick."

"How we gonna do tha'? Somethin' tells me tha' firin' a gun ain't such a smart idea."

Merle marinated in his own thoughts for a few moments before uttering a "fuck it" and he got up off the ground.

"The hell ya doin'?" Daryl asked, following suit.

"Dixons don't take the easy way out, baby brother, so let's git this shit done the hard way," Merle said, pulling both of his knives out of their sheaths. "Let's try ta take as many out as we can before they even notice that we're there."

So, as quietly as they could and well-armed with four knives, the Dixon brothers snuck up on the ten monsters that huddled at the bottom of the tree; the smell made Merle hold back a gag and that was saying something because the man had an iron stomach. When they got a few feet away, he peeked up at the woman in the tree who appeared to be…was she talking to someone? Merle didn't give it much thought before nodding to his brother and declaring a full out war on the biters—he stuck both knives into two different biter's skulls just as his brother did the same. The four falling to the ground attracted the attention to the other six; four headed for Daryl and two headed for Merle. This was the point where Merle thought twice about that whole "Dixons don't take the easy way out"; when multiple biters were coming at ya, it's a little more complicated than it seemed.

The first one lunged and he swerved out of the way just at the other one came at him. He gave it a kick to the chest and it fell backwards onto its rear so he took that opportunity to shove a blade into its brain. There wasn't time for pride or self-congratulations because the other one was chomping its teeth and heading right for his throat. One of the positive things about fighting these creatures was their lack of any sort of skill at all; he could pull the same swerve-outta-the-way move twenty times and they'd still be all "what-the-fuck-was-that?"

So, he swerved and it looked a little puzzled for a moment as he brought the knife down into the back of its head, the blade cutting into flesh and bone like butter. He smiled as he yanked it out and watched it tumble to the ground.

"Merle," Daryl grunted from underneath the last biter. "Lil' help."

Max was barking ferociously at it, grabbing onto a limb and yanking with his teeth until the flesh he had ahold of just shredded from the pressure. It paid no mind to the dog; it had its sights set on the meaty throat of Merle's brother. Merle took five purposeful steps toward it, made sure that the dog and Daryl were clear and jammed the knife into the thing's brain. It slumped, falling onto the man on the ground in a sad heap. Daryl pushed it off and rolled so that he was as far away from it as he could get as Max sniffed the body and pawed at it to make sure that it was all the way dead. Black blood covered Daryl's chest and neck and Merle sneered as he walked over to him.

"Ya stink," Merle commented. "How'd tha' fucker git on top of ya anyhow?"

Daryl squinted a death glare at the older man. "I could ask you tha same damn question, old man."

They glared at each other for a moment until they heard the soft sound of singing. Their bitter looks turned into confusion as they looked up into the tree and cocked their heads like a couple of dogs picking up on a train whistle.

"The hell's she doin'?" Merle asked for both of them.

Daryl put his hands on his hips. "Is she…is she holding onto an invisible hand?"

They cocked their heads in the other direction simultaneously, showing just how alike they were as siblings. Emma was indeed singing with her eyes closed and holding onto an invisible hand. Merle snorted and shook his head as they watched her; Max pawed at the tree and let out a frustrated whine.

"Ain't got much of a singin' voice, does she?" Merle pondered.

"Sounds a lil' like a cat'n season," Daryl agreed.

"Er a broken duck call."

They watched her for a few more moments, trying to come up with more witty comparisons but their fatigue won out over the mockery of Emma.

"How we gonna git her down?" Daryl asked.

Merle shrugged and hissed, "Princess!" as quietly as he could. She just kept right on singing and smiling to herself. "Hey! Wake up!"

Daryl shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently, looking around in case any other dead people wandered along and wanted to make a meal out of them. Just as Merle was about to pick up a long stick and poke her in the rump with it to wake her up, her voice became distressed and she yelled out someone's name. Panicked, she leaned to the side and lost her balance on the branch and she started to fall.

"Shit!" Merle didn't have time to consider how nice he was being when he reached out his arms and caught her in the air, going down on one knee with the force. The impact didn't even rouse her even the tiniest bit, save for a short whimper and a frown. Merle shook her a little as Daryl stood over them, watching for her to open her eyes so they could get a move on. All the shake did was cause her limp arm to fall off her lap and down onto the ground. "Aww…come on, lady!"

"Should we carry her back ta tha truck?" Daryl asked.

"Hell no, ya wanna go inta tha city, don't ya?" Daryl nodded. "I ain't backtrackin'. We're gonna have ta carry her unconscious ass." Remembering back to his days in the military, Merle grabbed both of her wrists in one of his hands and tugged, pulling her body over his shoulder. "Grab her duffle."

They started walking in the direction of where they were supposed to be going – west – and kept silent as they traveled over the hills and through the brush of the dense forest. The only good thing for Merle about carrying Emma over his shoulder was that he could finally give her ass a nice grab because he'd been dying to do that since the woman first showed up months ago. He grinned because it wasn't boney and he got a good handful of flesh as he tested his hand out. Just because he could—and also the fact that he figured she owed him—he gave her rump a nice little smack. His imagination ran wild with ideas of how that would feel and sound if she didn't have those pesky jeans on. After he gave her a second little smack, she murmured out a name; Daryl cut his eyes to Merle and asked, "Wha'd she say?"

Merle grunted. "I think she said some dude's name." In an attempt to get her to say it again, he gave her a third smack, ignoring Daryl's disapproving glare. She muttered the name again and even added a little giggle this time. "Who the fuck is Flanery?"

Daryl made a noise. "Well, she prob'ly had fuckin' twins and that's her son's name. Who knows what else this woman's lied 'bout."

Merle grunted in response.

Finally, when they walked a good mile, Merle spotted a small cave in the side of a cliff that was calling his name. There wasn't a muscle in either of their bodies that didn't ache with exhaustion or beg for some rest.

"Let's clear tha' cave," Merle suggested.

Daryl pulled his knife and flashlight, and snuck into the cave like a covert spy on a mission. He came out, shaking his head indicating that the place was empty of wildlife or biters. As smoothly as he could, Merle squeezed through the small entrance with Emma over his shoulder and found a place to lay her down with the help of Daryl's flashlight. The muscles in Merle's shoulder ached as he bent down and flipped her over his shoulder and on the ground; as he did so, he accidentally got a nice grope of one of her breasts. As tired as he was and as accidental as the groping, he could help the tiny bit of stirring that happened in his lower abdomen. Then he thought about "accidentally" doing it again, because she did owe him for carrying her heavy ass for a mile, but he figured that was a little too creepy, even for him. She wasn't that irresistible and he'd just gotten his dick sucked in the bathroom at Hank's a couple days ago…or was it the day before? He wasn't even sure anymore how many days had passed since all this shit began.

"I got watch," Daryl muttered. "I slept a lil' in the truck today."

Merle grunted an affirmative. And on that note, he decided that the woman may not owe him an unconscious boob grope but she did owe him a nice soft pillow so he lay down perpendicular to her and put his heavy head on her soft, warm lap.

* * *

_**A/N: So, what do you think of the unconscious reunion? I just had to have Merle catch Emma all Princess-bride-like since he's always calling her Princess. That's what he gets. What do you think of Merle's annoying guilt? Did I make you laugh at all? Did I worry you? Did you imagine what Daryl's dirty underwear smelled like when I mentioned them? I just made you grimace, didn't I? Haha! Do you think this will be an Emma/Daryl story or an Emma/Merle story? What do you want it to be? Shhh...to those that already know! Who is still pissed at TWD for offing Merle? *raises hand* **_

_**Please leave me some love! I adore you for it!**_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_**A/N: Not much to say. J**__**ust hope you like :)**_

_**Shoutouts!**_

_**Brazen Hussy: Sometimes I fantasize about Merle carrying me like a sack of potatoes and giving my behind a nice, hard slap. It's how my sick and twisted mind comes up with this shit. SO glad you liked it. SRSLY. Your review made me all giddy.**_

_**Lilone1776: JEEZE, I love your reviews. You make me want to write. When you review, you make me excited to get the next chapter out there. Thank you for taking the time to leave me your sweet words! :)**_

_**LampPostInWinter: Oh, man... Merle's death... I can't... I just can't... I'm still stuck in the anger phase in the grief process over that whole debacle. I could go on and on and on... *Sigh* How I miss him. I'm so glad that my little story brought you so much joy! I'm trying to write longer chapters...I really am. This one isn't so long but the next one is massive :) Thank you for your sweet, sweet words!**_

_**Arrelmai: THANK YOU! I love to know that my humor is coming across nicely! I appreciate you taking the time to let me know!**_

_**Tranquillity's Chaos: Oh yes...the one and only SPF ;) Gotta love him. Glad you're enjoying this! Thanks for the review!**_

_**Middlekertz: Thank you for reviewing! I can't really answer how it's going to turn out but I hope you keep reading regardless. :)**_

_**Thank you all for reading :) You all ROCK HARD!**_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Emma awoke with a start. For a moment, she thought that she must be dreaming until she felt the hardness poking into her back and every muscle in her body felt like it had been lit on fire. With all the nightmares that she'd had in her days, even she knew that you didn't feel physical pain in a dream. Her leg hurt the worst, her brain slowly coming to life and conjuring up the last few minutes of her life that she'd been conscious—stuck in a tree with dead people wanting to eat her. She shook her head and wanted to laugh because obviously, that had been the nightmare; that's when she really took stock in her situation and wondered seriously where she was at the moment. There were heavy things on her legs, as if holding her down and it felt like rocks poking her in the back and neck. Her head wasn't resting on anything pleasant or soft but instead, more rocks.

She was in hell. And in hell, apparently she was blind because she couldn't see shit.

That was when she panicked. She was close to letting out a screech until she felt the familiar swipe of a rough tongue go up her cheek. She moved her right leg, overjoyed that the heavy thing holding down that leg must have been Max's head. As she moved, pain jolted through her upper thigh and she ground her molars together to keep from crying out. There was no telling who or what was in this…wherever she was, with her, so silence was golden in moments like this.

"Max," she whispered, nearly giggling with joy as she passed a hand over his head. "Where are we boy?"

The realization that everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours was reality—the dead rising, climbing up the tree, her mom being sick, Charlotte in danger—hit Emma like a ton of bricks. She put her hand over her mouth and tears filled her eyes; she tried desperately to figure out how she got out of that tree but nothing came to mind. For some reason, she had a vision of Charlotte singing but that was impossible since her daughter was trapped in a dorm room in Athens.

Thinking about the young girl, made resolve seep into Emma's every pore; determination ground through her muscles as she sat on those hard, cold rocks. She had come out here for a reason and it didn't matter where she was or how she got there—she needed to get to Charlotte. Blinking, she tried to process something that would tell her that she wasn't blind and she was thrilled when her eyes began to pick up on a soft light coming from her left. It looked like natural light—the sunrise, perhaps.

Emma would be lying if she said she wasn't a little afraid of what exactly was holding her other leg down. It was heavy and hard and almost warm; the only word she could come up with to describe it was alive. It felt alive. She hoped that meant that it wasn't one of those monsters, who had dragged her off to a cave somewhere and was saving her for a midnight snack. Shaking her head, she chuckled softly to herself because those things didn't have the thought process to save something for later or even to drag it off.

Tentatively, she reached a hand down toward her leg in an effort to quietly distinguish what her captor was. As soon as her palm met the warm, rough whiskers of a man, she gasped and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. There was a man's head on her leg and the warmth indicated that he was alive. Now, she had to figure out what he wanted with her.

Chewing on her lip, she made a decision to try and slip out from underneath him and run for it. It may have not been smart because she had no weapons, no food and no sense of direction but now was not the time to go trusting strangers—especially, ones that used your body parts as pillows so they could keep tabs on you in their sleep.

Carefully and as quietly as she could, she slid her palms under the man's heavy head, noticing how heavy it was and how muscular his neck was as she managed to weasel her fingers under him. Just from feeling him above the neck, she could tell that this was a large man; a man much stronger than her and if he wanted, he could do horrible things to her if she didn't get out before he woke up. Just as she was about to slide her leg out from underneath his head, he grabbed ahold of her hand. She yelped and tried to pull away but his grip around her fingers was too strong.

"Let me go!" she growled, trying to get away from him but at this point, he'd wrapped his other hand around her knee.

"If yer gonna go rubbin' on me in ma sleep, I prefer tha' ya do it below the waist, princess," he said.

Immediately, Emma stopped struggling and she blinked into the darkness. "Merle?"

His large hand that was still wrapped around her knee gave her a little squeeze. "The one an' only. Now 'bout that rubbin'…"

Emma didn't even think before she acted; relief flooded through every muscle in her body and her bones suddenly felt like pudding. Gasping, she toppled forward and wrapped her arms around him in an tight awkward hug. If you would have told Emma a month ago, hell even days ago, that she'd be so thankful to see Merle that she'd hug him, she would have laughed until her stomach hurt but that's exactly what happened. Merle stiffened and tried to pull away a little, probably confused about what she was attempting to do but eventually just let her have at it by letting out a deep, grumbled sigh.

"How did I get in here?" she asked. "Last thing I remember, I was stuck up in a tree, pretty close to being eaten by dead people." She let out that hysterical giggle that had been bubbling up in her stomach since she'd woken up. "Dead people. They were trying to eat me. That's just…"—she shook her head a little against his shoulder—"crazy. It's crazy. This is really happening, right? Jesus, it's the end of the fucking world, isn't it?" She pulled away from him like a gunshot but kept her hands wrapped around his bicep for what she could only explain as the comfort of knowing that he was still there. "Charlotte! We have to get to her, Merle! She's—"

A large hand clasped over her mouth, making the rest of her words muffled.

"Would ya shut tha fuck up fer two damn seconds? Christ. I ain't even answerin' any of those damn questions 'cause I'm afraid it'll make ya talk more." He pulled his arm out of her grasp and she heard him stand up. "I gotta piss."

Emma felt the sudden, unnatural urge to follow him wherever he went because being left here in the dark was terrifying; however she held back but it was a struggle. She felt around for her dog and found him lying beside her, his eyes focused on the direction where Merle went. With a sigh, she used one of the larger rocks as leverage and tried to stand up. Pain shot through her thigh and instinctively, she placed her palm on the wound, feeling the sticky blood still oozing from the cut. Her head ached, the muscles in her back were sore and she had an angry scratch on her cheek but her leg overshadowed all of that. She could feel the infection already brewing deep in the cut and if she didn't clean it out soon, there was no telling what was going to fester in the wound.

"What's wrong with ya?" A new voice mumbled from the direction Merle had disappeared in.

"Daryl?" She could only imagine no-shit-it's-Daryl look on his face in response. "What…how did you find me?"

"That damn dog a yer's came outta nowhere and led us to ya," Daryl said. "Forgot ma hunting knife down where we parked an' came back ta git it."

Emma was piss-poor when it came to reading lies laced in the tones of voices so she nodded her head. "Uh…thank you," she squeaked. "I…I would have died if it weren't for you guys."

She could hear his feet shuffling awkwardly. "Whatever. It wasn't like we came back for ya. We jus' saw tha dog an' figured tha' ya'd gotten yerself killed."

"So you followed him," she said, smirking in the darkness.

More shuffling. "Yer leg is bleedin' all over the fuckin' place." How he managed to see that in the dark was beyond her but she trusted that he could. "Ya prob'ly need stitches."

"Well, that'll have to wait. I have to get into the city." A long silence filled the air and she wondered if he'd even heard her for a moment. "So, thanks for everything and—"

"Wha's so 'portant in tha' city tha' ya need ta risk yer life for it?" Daryl asked, cutting her off.

Fumbling over the rocks in the darkness, Emma took a deep breath to keep her voice strong. "I told you—I have a niece that—"

"Fuck that," Daryl grumbled. "She's prob'ly already dead!"

Emma tightened her hands into fists. "No. She's not. She's strong and smart and…and she's fucking fine. I'm going to go and get her out of there."

"With what? Yer bare hands? Ya ain't got no weapons! Ya ain't got any food! An' ya certainly ain't got no fuckin' sense a' direction! How ya gonna go git her out?" Emma ignored him and headed toward the opening of what she could now see was some sort of cave. The sun was beginning to light up the sky enough for her to make out where she was going. "Yer wastin' yer time an' yer gonna git yerself killed."

Emma turned back to him. "And why do you even care? Why did you even help me?" Emma swallowed the heavy, thick lump that was caught in her throat and threatening to bubble over into a sob. "I appreciate everything that you guys did but…but you can go fuck yourself, Daryl."

Merle sensed his brother's pathetic attempt at baiting Emma so he came up behind them and clapped Daryl hard enough on the shoulder to make him wince. "We ain't got time fer this shit. Just tell 'er ya know, already, would ya?"

Emma's jaw dropped and she made a noise that in other circumstances—and amongst different people—she would have found embarrassing. Daryl had the gull to appear sheepish and as he kicked at the ground with his boot until he remembered that he was the one who was in the right in this situation. He had every right to be pissed and she deserved to have the rug pulled out from underneath of her.

"How…" Emma's eyes flicked over to Merle who was looking mighty uninterested in the whole exchange even though the tightness in his shoulders told Emma otherwise. When she looked back at Daryl, he was watching her and waiting for some sort of explanation, perhaps or a sign of apology. She wasn't sure what to say to him. "Can you at least point me in the right direction?"

Daryl sneered at her and said, "Ya think ya can git inta that city and git that girl out all by yerself?"

Emma shrugged. "I'm going to do whatever I have to do."

"Tha' don't look so good," Merle interrupted, nodding at the gash in her upper thigh. It throbbed and she knew that it was getting infected and it possibly needed stitches but she'd suffered through worse. There was a time that Gary had broken at least one of her ribs and people around her never even knew it. She did a half-ass job of wrapping an Ace bandage around herself for months; she made sure no one was looking when she'd grimace out of pain every time she sat down or moved wrong. She could ignore this scratch in her leg if it meant getting to her daughter faster. "Ya should at least bandage it up."

"It's fine," Emma said. "Just tell me which way to go and I'll get there. Please."

Merle sighed, his eyes still on the wound on her leg. "Ya got any weapons?"

Emma shifted a little on her feet. "I had a knife and my bow but…"

"Is there anythin' in tha' bag tha' can be useful?" Merle pointed to the black duffel that she thought she'd lost in the woods the day before.

"Uh…well, I have some arrows but without my bow, they're useless. A small first aid kit. There's a few granola bars and some dry socks. Nothing that would kill one of those things."

"Take yer pants off," Merle said stepping closer.

Emma almost laughed. "What?"

"Give me tha' first aid kit and take yer pants off. I ain't gonna have tha' wound on yer leg slowin' ya down and gettin' ma ass killed." Emma stared at him in shock as he came even closer and without missing a beat, stuck his finger inside the hem of her pants. A slow mischievous smile crept over his lips as he watched her reaction to his close proximity. She knew that he wanted to scare her; he wanted her to freak the fuck out but she wasn't going to give him that. Frankly, she was too damn exhausted to play the Merle Dixon game today. "Er am I gonna have ta do it fer ya?"

Sighing, she slapped his hand away and grabbed her black duffel off the ground. "I'll do it myself."

To get some privacy, she walked around the corner of the cave and took in her surroundings to make sure that there weren't any walking dead people hiding behind any bushes waiting for a snack. Satisfied that she was as alone as she was going to get, she dropped her bag onto the ground and unsnapped the button of her pants. When she got her pants down around her knees, she got a good look at the wound on her thigh. It did look pretty nasty and it wouldn't take long for it to get severely infected but she wasn't going to tell Merle that he was right. She took her little first aid kit out of her bag and cleaned it the best she could with the bottle of water she had before applying some antibiotic ointment. After it was as good as it was going to get without a real doctor, she pulled her pants back up and stuffed everything back into the bag.

When she approached Daryl and Merle, they were having a serious discussion about weaponry that she tried to wiggle into but wasn't allowed. The brothers were concerned that they didn't bring enough ammo so Merle volunteered to go back to the truck to get what they'd left behind. Daryl and Emma were to start heading for the city and the older Dixon would catch up with them.

"What if we run into trouble?" Emma asked, trying not to sound as panicked as she felt. "Maybe we should just wait for you to get back and then we'll all go off together."

The brothers avoided eye contact with her and, instead, gave each other one of those meaningful Dixon glances that she'd never been able to interpret. "We ain't got time," Merle mumbled.

Emma scrunched up her face. "What do you mean?"

"Jus' what I said – we ain't got time."

"I want to get there just as fast as you guys do but going into this half-cocked is a little…" she trailed off as she noticed the weird shuffling that Daryl was doing with his feet. "What aren't you telling me?"

Merle grunted out of irritation. "They gonna bomb the city at dark t'night."

It took a moment for that new information to sink in before Emma reacted by sucking in a deep breath of air. "Fucking shit," Emma whispered. "You sure that you can catch up with us in time?"

Merle looked offended. "Hell yes, woman! It's what I said, didn't I?"

As the older Dixon turned to leave, Emma watched his retreating form with worry. It didn't seem right, sending him off by himself in a world that seemed so fucking dangerous anymore. Yeah, Merle was a fighter and a grown man but that didn't make him invincible. She looked down to see that same worry circling around in Max's big brown eyes as he looked from her—his master—to the disappearing Dixon off in the distance. Emma nodded her chin toward Merle and said, "Go on. Keep him safe." If Max had the capability to do so, he would have giggled with glee at the order as he hustled off to catch up with Merle. When she turned back to Daryl, she caught the south end of a look that she couldn't decipher since he turned his back on her as soon as their eyes met. She wasn't sure but it looked like a mixture of surprise and appreciation which were emotions that she wasn't even sure Daryl could muster up nowadays.

So, as Merle headed back toward their two vehicles, Daryl and Emma stalked toward the city in a horrible, uncomfortable silence. Daryl, of course, walked way too fast causing Emma to half-jog on her injured leg; she made plenty of grunty-pained noises to make him aware that it was bothering her but he kept up the pace. She supposed she should be grateful that he was in such a rush to get into the city and get to Charlotte but her leg was throbbing and hot and, fuck, if she didn't think her pants were getting tighter around that thigh. If they didn't take a break soon, she'd be in trouble.

"You think we should sit for a minute?" she asked, half-panting as they climbed up a small hill. "Give Merle time to catch up?"

"Nope," he replied curtly.

"Can I at least stop to take a drink of water?"

"Ya can't drink an' walk at tha same time?" Daryl asked.

She rolled her eyes but it wasn't satisfying since she did it at his back and there was no way he'd seen it. "I need two minutes, Daryl."

He stopped rapidly and she nearly ran into his back. "Ya wanna git that girl er not?"

Emma swallowed at the emotion she saw swirling in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry," was all she could come up with.

The tightness in his jaw indicated that he had a mouthful of words that he would have loved to have thrown at her but instead, he muttered, "Ya got two minutes." With a grunt, he plopped down on the hillside and let his eyes survey the land.

Carefully, she plopped down on a large rock so that she was facing him so they could keep watch in both directions. The water she gulped out of their last remaining water bottle was the best damn water she swear she'd ever drank; Daryl waved it off when she offered it to him.

"You're not any less manly if you drink some water," she said, smiling a little.

Daryl sneered in return. "Whatever."

The next minute was filled with silence, save for a crow that was searching for its mate in the loudest, most obnoxious manner possible. Emma bit her lip, desperate for the right words but finding it hard to get them out of her mouth without turning the whole conversation into one that would end with a stomping Daryl.

"I should have told you," she said softly.

Daryl grunted and stood up. "Git yer shit and let's go."

This time, she made sure that he at least caught the start of her eye roll. She stood up and they started walking at the same pace they'd ended at a couple minutes prior.

"Thank you for doing this," she said and received nothing in return. "I don't know what I would have done without you guys. I mean, yeah, I do—I'd be fucking dead because I would have died up in that tree. I could have hung myself with my shoe laces. Or eaten tree bark. Didn't you tell me one time that tree bark is poisonous?"

Emma grinned at his back because she knew that question would rile him up. It worked.

He scoffed. "Bittersweet vines are poisonous. You were sittin' in a half-dead Oak tree."

"I bet if I ate enough of Oak bark, it'd kill me."

This time, he snorted. "Nah, but it'd give ya mean case 'a the shits."

"Sounds like you're talking from experience."

He looked over his shoulder and cut his eyes to hers; it was just a brief moment but it was something. "Nah, it's common fuckin' sense. If ya ate that Oak bark, ya'd prob'ly shit yerself or fall out of the tree from stomach cramps."

Emma bit the inside of her cheek, desperate for the right words to keep him in the conversation. "God, that would be awful—walking around dead with shit in my pants. I bet even other zombies wouldn't want to be near me. I'd be an outcast even after I'm dead." He didn't respond but she knew that he'd probable found that statement amusing so she figured she had broken through enough to at least have a decent conversation with him. "I really can explain why—"

Before she could get the words out, he turned around quick and pulled her to the ground, behind a small hill. At first, she thought he'd lost it and he was going to beat the shit out of her so she panicked and tried her best to get away from him. She'd been under a man in a brutal situation before and she never walked away from it looking good. Her brain didn't even take into the fact that it was Daryl; it flipped right into survival mode and she started pushing and jabbing at the man in a panic.

"The fuck!" he hissed quietly. "Shut it er they'll hear ya!"

When she registered his words, she stopped struggling under his grasp and followed his order by shutting it. There were voices; at least two men and they were close. They were talking too low for her to make out what exactly they were saying but it lifted her spirits just the same.

"We must be getting close," she whispered. "Maybe they can help us."

Daryl looked at her like she'd just suggested that he try on her panties and give her a show. "Tha's fuckin' stupid. We pop outta here an' they'll blow our damn heads off."

She wanted to argue but he was pretty adamant about keeping low and arguing would only draw in unwanted attention so she kept her mouth shut. He'd gotten her this far so she had to learn to trust him. Unfortunately, they didn't have much of a choice in the matter because a straggling zombie had approached them from behind and was drooling for their flesh. Emma caught sight of the what-used-to-be a young girl but was now a dead person with half her face ripped off. She tapped on Daryl's shoulder frantically and pointed at the shuffling biter coming toward them. Daryl whispered out a curse pulled his knife out of his utility belt as the thing drew in within a couple feet. He had no choice but to pop up and plunge the knife deep into its skull. It let out a final moan as it hit the ground. The action drew the attention of the alive-but-possibly-dangerous people that they'd been hiding from before and they called out to them.

"Hey!" One voice called out. "You there! Ya armed?"

"Mother fucker…" Daryl whispered.

"I'm gonna shoot at ya if ya don't answer me! I saw ya take down that…that thing a second ago so I know that you're there!"

First of all, Emma noticed how uncreative these two were – "things"? Really? They rose from the dead and ate live humans the best they could come up with was to call them "things'? Second, the man's voice was quivering which meant that he was afraid and fear typically came from a significant place. This dude wasn't some psycho out to get innocent bystanders; no, this was someone who was just trying to survive and make it to tomorrow.

"There are two of us!" Emma called out. Daryl gave her a dirty look and she returned it, adding her signature bitch brow to the mix. "We're not out to hurt anyone! I promise!"

"Are ya armed?" he called out.

Daryl shook his head.

"No! Just the knife and that's it!"

There was hesitation and some grumbling between the two. "Come out real slow so we can see ya!"

Daryl shook his head again but the fact that there were only so many hours of daylight left gave her motivation to stand. "If I die, please get Charlotte," she whispered as she stood with her hands reaching for the sky. Daryl muttered out a curse but stayed close to the ground, looking quite agitated that she hadn't followed his instructions. As she surveyed their surroundings, she couldn't make out where the men were but she knew they were out there. All she could see were trees, bushes and more trees.

"Uh…see! I'm unarmed and I come in peace!" In a typical Emma move, she snorted out a nervous laugh at her words. "I'm…I mean you no harm!" This time she cringed at her words and hissed down at Daryl, "Everything I say sounds like some corny Steven Segal action movie line! What am I supposed to say?"

Daryl shrugged and had the gall to look amused. "Yer the one who got yerself inta this mess! Figure it tha fuck out!"

Giving Daryl her best duck-faced, pissy expression, she'd kicked him a little on the knee and looked back up to her seemingly invisible visitors. "I, uh, just need to get into the city!"

One of the invisible men let out a busty guffaw. "Ain't happening, sweetheart! They got that city blocked all the way around! The only way in there is through these woods!"

Apparently, brains weren't big 'round these parts. "Well, that was sort of the point of what we were doing in these woods; we're trying to get in this way!"

There was a long pause and some distant bickering between them. "What in the hell do you want to get to in that city? Ain't nothin' there but dead people!"

A shiver of fear rushed up her spine at his words but she swallowed it back. It was just an exaggeration, she thought to herself. There were plenty of survivors still in the city, being imprisoned and awaiting their death at sundown. She hoped that at least the government was trying to evacuate the healthy and not just counting them as losses for the cause.

"M-my daughter is there at the University! I told her to stay there and that I'd come and get her!" She yelled as Daryl tensed on the ground at her feet, his eyes shooting around the back of her. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw nothing but he obviously had caught onto something behind her. "What?!" she hissed at him. "Don't let me get eaten!"

He ignored her but kept his eyes on the same spot.

"Well, go on and pass then! Just keep walking but when ya stumble outta that city as one of them things, I'm gonna kill ya!"

The threat wasn't huge since they would have been doing them a favor if they'd done as they promised and killed them if they turned into biters. And since they seemed like generous folks, she tried her hand at one last question—"Can you give us a good route to take into the city? Close to the University?"

"The best direction we can tell ya to go is back where ya's came from 'cause that little girl of yours is good as dead, sweetheart! Sorry 'bout your luck!"

Emma gritted her teeth and talked herself out of arguing with the guy because she'd be able to feel it if Charlotte was dead. Right? Her own flesh and blood? Something would pass through her—a tremor or pain would gut her if her child was gone, right? She glanced at Daryl who was slowly rising from his place on the ground; her belly felt like it dropped to her knees. This wasn't some game. This was life or death and she had to face the fact that there was distinct possibility that she bust into that dorm room and find a zombie Charlotte.

Then, what would she do?

They moved slowly until they were a good fifty feet away from where the men were and then Daryl picked up the pace. In spite of the pain in her leg, she was happy to be getting as far away from the strangers as they could get. Just as she was about to let out a nice, long sigh of relief, something wet and cold hit the tips of her fingers. Without thinking, she yelped and almost crawled up Daryl's back with her fingernails.

"Tha fuck, woman!" Daryl growled.

The sound of Merle's laughter was something to be admired. Not. Looking behind her, she caught sight of the big redneck and her dog and his wet, cold nose.

"Somebody's a bit jumpy," Merle pointed out.

"Yeah, well, we just ran into two lunatics that almost shot us," Emma pointed right back.

"Little dramatic, aren't we? All ya's did was have a lil' chat an' ya were on yer way," Merle said. "Nobody even raised a gun to ya."

Emma shot him a look. "Yeah? How do you know that?"

"I was there, princess; had ma gun pointed at tha fucker's head in case he tried somethin'." Merle winked at her as he strode right by her, Max right on his heels. Emma thought back on the encounter and Daryl's reaction to something happening behind her. Merle had snuck up behind them without being seen and had had their backs while she struggled with communication. Sure, she had questions like how he managed to be so fucking stealthy in those size thirteen boots; or how he managed to see the men when she couldn't even tell where they were—but she didn't ask. Because that would give Merle's ass more reason to be smug. And smug Merle was no fun at all.

While they took a five minute breather, Emma poured a little of their remaining water into her hand so Max could get a little into his system before he overheated. Groaning, she pressed on her leg and she could feel the heat through the fabric of her jeans. Taking a deep breath, she willed away the pain and thought of Charlotte's hair, her smile, her voice. Nothing was going to stop her from getting to that girl and she was going to be alive when they found her. She held back a groan as she got up off the ground, blocking a nice, wet lick from Max with her hand. Merle and Daryl were exchanging firearms and talking out strategy as she approached them.

"Hey, don't I get one of those?" she asked, as she eyed the pistol Merle tucked into his pants.

They ignored her and kept mumbling about "low to the ground" and "quietly as we can" stuff.

"A gun? Can I have a gun?"

Merle finally turned to look at her, followed by his brother. "Hell no."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. "Why not?"

The older redneck stepped toward her, his intimidation tactic in full force. "Cause you'd end up shootin' me in the fuckin' ass, tha's why." He narrowed his eyes. "Wha' happened to yer bow?"

Emma broke eye contact because the loss of her bow was a sore subject. "Lost it when I was stuck up in that tree."

"Give her one a tha knives, Merle," Daryl mumbled, tired of the chatter. "We need ta get movin'."

Merle opened his mouth to argue but Emma interrupted as she gave Merle the stink eye. "No, that's alright. I'll deal with it."

As they approached the city limits, the walking dead numbers grew thicker; they seemed to come at them in multiple numbers, almost following a pack mentality. It wasn't anything that the Dixon brothers couldn't handle with their knives but as they got closer to the city, Emma could sense the tension in their little group. Daryl had just pulled his knife out of a skull when Emma saw the first building indicating that they were almost in the city but there was a problem: Along the city lines, it was carnage. There were crashed vehicles, the dead being devoured by the dead, and a burning building were only a few obstacles that stood in their way; and then, they had to actually locate the college. Emma had been to Athens three times—once to tour the college with Charlotte, the second to drop her off and the third, she just drove around like a good panicked mom does when they don't hear from their daughter after week. Three times wasn't enough for her to learn the layout of the city so they'd have to find a map.

Emma made Max lie down and she ordered him to stay in her I'm-dead-serious tone.

"He ain't comin'?" Merle asked, looking a little disappointed.

"You gonna miss him?"

He smiled. "I'd rather have 'im watchin' ma back than you, Princess."

"Ha-fucking-ha" Emma deadpanned. "It's too dangerous. We might have to go places that he isn't able to get to." She ran her hand over his head and he leaned into her palm. "I can't do that to him."

"Ya really love tha' mutt, don't cha?" Merle asked.

Emma grinned. "Of course I do."

She got a Dixon grunt in response.

The three of them had crouched down behind some bushes before they were spotted by any biters so they could work out their divide-and-conquer strategy. Well, at least Merle and Daryl did while Emma chewed at her fingernails and tried to be a look out. It seemed that Max was even more valuable than her and that made her feel like a bucket full of shit. One thing was certain—if she was going to make it, she'd have to watch and learn as the Dixons did their magic.

"Wha's tha' over there?" Daryl whispered as they eyed a rundown building on the corner.

Emma squinted. "Looks like a clothing store."

Daryl grunted.

"Wha' 'bout tha'?" Merle asked, pointing to a newer looking building farther away.

If it had been a different situation, Emma may have made a crack about the brother's reading abilities but she was just so giddy that she could help in some way that she let the opportunity pass. "Looks like some sort of dry cleaners."

They squinted at the buildings for a couple more minutes, eyeing each one like they were picking out a mugger in a line up when suddenly Emma spotted something big. She tried hard not to but she ended up letting out a little excited squeal-like noise that had both men looking at her like she'd just grown an extra ear out of her nose. "Sorry," she whispered and then pointed toward the sign. "Look!"

Simultaneously, they turned their attention to the sign that had caught her attention. Merle's smile reached from ear to ear. "If ya weren't so irritatin', I'd kiss ya, princess."

Again, Emma wasn't sure whether to be offended or not; she decided that taking offense would most likely waste time and attract zombies so she let the "irritatin'" jab fly. "How are we gonna get over there?"

Merle waggled his eyebrows at her. "We're gonna fuckin' run, baby girl."

There was no warning. No 1…2…3…Go! Not even a ready or a set. The brothers stood up, told her to "come the fuck on" and booked it for the building down the street that was decorated with a sign littered with guns.

And she followed.

* * *

**_A/N: Next chapter, we'll get to Charlotte...or maybe not. *evil cackle* It's already written. How badly do you want it? ;) Honestly, I'm going on vacation for a few days so I won't be able to post anything until next Monday. I really hope to come back to some feedback :) Please? PLEASE! I love my readers. So very much._**

**_Who thinks Charlotte will be alive? Who thinks she'll be a zombie? Who wants to rub baby oil on Merle's biceps? Or Daryl's abs? Just seein' if you were paying attention. :-P Have a great weekend, ya'll!_**


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_**A/N: Yeah. I know its been a while. Went on my vacation and then had to watch a close family member go through the death process. It was long and horrible and no one should have to go through that. So, I haven't felt much like editing or writing or even reading, for that matter. SO...I'm terribly sorry! Forgive me! **_

**_For your patience, you get Emma's POV first and then you get Merle's. I hope you like. I hope ya'll haven't given up on me! I'm taking this story to great places. I even have a sequel in my head, brewing like walker stew. :)_**

**_This will be a good one, kids! Enjoy!_**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Holy shit!" Emma exclaimed after they'd climbed up a fire escape and into the hunting shop creatively named "Willard's Outdoor World". While she was grateful that she was indoors, she couldn't keep that helpless feeling—the same one she had when she was stuck in that damn tree—from creeping into her gut. "Did you see how many of those biters there were?! They were everywhere! How in the hell are we going to get out of here now?!"

"Would ya calm tha fuck down?" Daryl grumbled. "They'll go away at some point."

Emma barked out a laugh. "No, they won't. They know we're in here now and those things are stubborn as hell. They'll claw at the back of the building where we went up until something else either draws their attention or kills them."

The brothers glanced at each other before Merle shrugged, "We can jus' leave 'er here 'till we get back. It'd make our lives a hell ova lot easier."

Emma's jaw dropped. "You can't leave me here!"

"Oh," Merle said, smiling big, "hell yeah, we can."

The snort that erupted out of Emma was sarcastically defensive. "No, you can't!"

Merle walked close enough to her that she could see the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his upper lip. "Ya do realize tha' we're in a huntin' store, right?"

Emma fought the urge to shift on her feet. "Yeah, of course I do."

Merle's left eyebrow lifted and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Ya know wha' they have a lot of in a huntin' store? Rope. Lots an' lots a rope. I could have ya on tha' floor, layin' on those pretty lil' tits a yers in abou' two seconds flat and ma brother could have ya cow tied in abou' six seconds." Merle's twitching lips turned into a full out grin as Emma narrowed her eyes at him. "Now, tell me again tha' I can't make ya stay here."

This time, Emma couldn't keep from doing that anxious feet-shuffling thing which immediately gave Merle the satisfaction that he'd unnerved her. "Let's just get moving, shall we?"

"In tha future, keep ya mouth shut," Merle muttered calmly.

Emma crushed her molars together and bit her tongue because she needed to get to Charlotte. As much as she wanted to take the intimidation that Merle was throwing at her and shove it up his ass, she couldn't; he was helping her and if her pride suffered in the meantime, so be it. She did sneer at him the best she could but if he saw it, he gave no indication.

Letting out some frustration through a deep exhale, Emma took stock in where exactly they were—it was an office that looked like it hadn't been touched since the whole outbreak started. Piles of paperwork were neatly stacked on the glossy surface of the desk, a giant moose head grinned at her from the wall and the floor looked like it had just been vacuumed. It was all sort of depressing. The memory of three days ago as she sat on her second story patio, sucking on a Marlboro light and wishing for warmer weather, made her stomach lurch. As she started opening up drawers of the desk, she wondered if she would ever sit on that patio again and wish for stupid shit.

"The hell ya doin'?" Daryl hissed at her from the doorway. "We're goin' downstairs."

"I'll be down in a minute," she whispered back. As Daryl made a disapproving noise, he turned toward the door but before he disappeared from sight, Emma hissed, "Don't you dare leave without me!"

Daryl grunted to confirm that he'd heard her but didn't bother turning around for some—God forbid—eye contact.

Emma scavenged the drawers, looking for anything that could help them but she didn't find anything too useful. She found a metal letter opener that might come in handy, a few band aids that wouldn't do a thing for her throbbing leg and the biggest prize of all, a half-bottle of cheap scotch. The prayer for a bottle of water fell on deaf ears or even a granola bar. Did this dude ever snack? As she was stuffing the band aids and scotch into her bag, she heard Merle shout from downstairs. It wasn't his usual redneck, boisterous tone; he sounded threatened so Emma booked it for the stairs, careful to be as quiet as she could in case they had visitors of the undead variety.

As she crept down the stairs, she could hear Merle talking and someone else replied…someone who wasn't Daryl. When she got to the bottom of the hallway, she peeked around the door way to see three men standing about ten feet away from her. Two of them were Dixons but the other guy was holding a rifle to Daryl's angry looking head. He looked older, maybe in his sixties; from the looks of his steady hands on that gun, he was more than comfortable with the weapon. Merle stood a few feet away, looking ready to pounce as soon as the cold metal left his brother's forehead. The stranger had his back to Emma and she could see both brothers' faces clearly and wouldn't you know it, they looked a little pissed off.

"Why should I let you go?" The man growled. "You were gonna steal from my store!"

"Take that fuckin' gun off ma brother's head an' I might let ya live, old man." To ears that hadn't been trained in Dixon-speak, Merle's tone may have sounded carefree and calm but to Emma, she could sense the panic laced through the words. If anything pissed off Merle, it was somebody else messing with his baby brother. Seeing a gun to Daryl's head was making Merle desperate and murderous. She could tell by the look of alarm in his eyes that a real stupid plan was churning in that head of his.

"I ain't takin' this gun off his head until you get your ass outta my store," the man said. He had a head full of graying hair and a muscular body. There was a chance that Merle wouldn't be able to take him which made Emma's stomach plummet to the floor. As much as she'd she give to be able to kick Merle's ass just once, she didn't want to see him hurt or dead; this was just the type of situation that would result in such a thing. Merle was impulsive when it came to protecting his family, which Emma understood since she was the same way. Unless she did something, Merle was going to end up with a bullet in his gut or Daryl with one in his brain.

Chewing on her lip, she crept out of the doorway in a crouched position as the men continued their unfriendly banter. She quietly approached the back of the stranger, her eyes scanning the room for some sort of weapon to at least knock him out with. It was a risk, since his finger was on the trigger and the dangerous end held right against Daryl's temple but it was the only thing she could think of to do. So, when she spotted a small deer statue sitting on the floor by the counter, she grabbed it up and thanked God that it was heavy enough to do the job that she needed it to. Standing up, she held the statue in both of her hands in front of her body. For a split second, she glanced at Merle and caught his eyes and she swore she glimpsed a squint of approval as she brought the thing up over her head and—

"I know you're back there," the stranger called out calmly with his eyes still planted on the brothers. "So before you do something stupid and I blow this young man's brains out, come stand over here by this ugly mother fucker."

Merle sneered at the man. "Yer gonna die, old man."

The man ignored him. "You got five seconds to get over here or this pretty boy here is gonna see what it feels like to eat gun powder."

"Okay," Emma mumbled slowly, her nerves making it hard to get her legs working in the correct manner, "okay, I'm coming."

Slowly, she put the deer statue down on the counter and moved into the man's field of vision. With her hands raised in a non-threatening manner, she stood next to Merle who was coiled tight. Daryl was holding it together pretty well considering the metal barrel placed at his temple—his jaw was clenched but his posture remained calm and collected. The smaller redneck was smart and had impressive reflexes so she knew that if given the chance, he'd have that gun off his head and the stranger on the ground in a matter of seconds. It was just about waiting for opportunity to do so where he didn't end up with a bullet lodged uncomfortably in his temple.

"Why don't you put that gun down now," Emma said. "We're not going to hurt you."

"The hell I ain't!" Merle shouted. "I'm gonna put ma hands around tha' fucker's neck and squeeze 'till his eyes pop outta his god damn skull."

Emma rolled her eyes because Merle knew just how to make a bad situation so much worse.

"Least I'll get the pleasure of shooting the fella here before you do it," the older man growled.

Merle growled like a dog. "Ya shoot ma brother and I'll cut off every-fuckin'-one 'a yer fingers an' make ya eat 'em!"

"Not before I shoot you in gut!"

"I'll git to ya before ya can—"

All Emma could think about was how much time all this dick-measuring was wasting. "Stop it! For fuck's sake, stop!" She looked between the two men like a mother would her two misbehaving children. "Let's just go. We're sorry we broke into your little store in an effort to stay the fuck alive but we'll just go, okay?"

"I'm not gonna just let you walk outta here, missy!"

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, completely done with this whole situation. "My daughter is out there somewhere and we have two guns to get us to the University to get to her! We needed weapons to go rescue her so excuse the hell out of us that we thought this place was abandoned! It's bad enough that we have no idea where we're going and that we're practically defenseless but now we have your ass holding a gun to our heads and wasting our fucking time!" Emma walked over to the man and pushed the gun off of Daryl's head, causing all three men to stare at her wide-eyed. "Now, back off and we'll be out of your hair…" Emma glanced up at the gray, receding hairline of the man. "…or what's left of it, anyway."

The grunt that erupted out of Daryl's throat used to mean—when they were just kids—that she had done something pretty remarkable by his standards. If that prideful grunt still held water, she didn't give a shit because they had places to go and people to see; grunt-deciphering wasn't on the menu at the moment. Finding Charlotte was and she'd be damned if anything was going to stand in her way.

"Let's go," she said, leaving no room for argument from the two brothers.

With a puffed out chest, the older Dixon walked toward the owner of the outdoor shop. "Ya better hope tha' I don't—" Merle started but Emma cut him off.

"Merle," Emma said, exhausted from dealing with their crap. "Shut it, will you? Shit to do, remember?"

The redneck's eyes widened and she was sure that flames would erupt from his flaring nostrils at any given moment. There was a chance that he would have moved to strangle her if the old man standing next to him hadn't spoken up.

"Take what ya need," he mumbled. All three of them blinked at him. He turned to Emma, looking just as pooped as she felt. "Just take it. I hope you find your daughter and I hope she's safe."

Merle didn't waste any time. He pushed past her, knocking into her shoulder and causing her to bump into a mannequin wearing some ridiculous camouflage hat complete with some weird netting around its face. She shrugged it off because this was Merle and Merle held grudges for stupid shit for ungodly amounts of time. There was no use in trying to baby him or apologizing; he'd work that shit out on his own.

"How 'bout this one, lil' brother?" Merle asked, holding up a heavy looking crossbow. Daryl grunted out an affirmation and caught the thing as his brother threw it to him. He grabbed up a bushel-full of arrows and tossed those at him too. Merle grabbed a recurve bow and his own arrows along with a nice looking hunting knife.

"You better load up, little missy, before you go out there," the man said, resting his rifle on his shoulder but keeping his eye on the brothers. "It's bad out there."

She put her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. You don't know…just, thank you."

He nodded and shot her a small smile and in that moment, she wished that she had more time. Emma wondered what his story was; where his family and friends had gone and why he was holed up here, in this store all by himself. Or maybe she didn't want to know because with the world going to shit, being ignorant was as good as it got.

Emma grabbed as many things as she could that would be easy to carry but used to bash in skulls. She traded her duffle for a nice comfortable backpack so she would have both of her hands free. When her bag was full of supplies including a hammer, a few knives, a compass, some matches, a nice first aid kit complete with a stitching kit and a couple flashlights, she turned to the brothers. They looked like they were heading out to a full out war with several guns and arrows protruding from their bodies at different angles. She supposed that they sort of were going to war but with a supernatural enemy that saw them as walking sushi. Emma snorted out loud at the thought. The walking dead versus the walking sushi—who would have thought that was how the human race would go down.

"Thanks again," Emma said to the man. "I don't even know your name."

The man smiled sadly. "There's no need for names anymore."

"Let's go," Daryl said as he moved by her.

"Get out of the city," Emma mumbled to the man. "They're going to drop something big tonight and the whole place is going to…just get out now, while you can."

The man looked at her, his haunted eyes squinting in thought. "Nah. I think I'll just go upstairs, get drunk and blow my fucking brains out." Emma's eyes widened in horror. "Or, I'll just let the fire take me. Which way do you think would be quickest?"

The lone tear that ran down his cheek maneuvered the conversation from creepy to heartbreaking. He'd probably lost everyone. It was possible that she'd do the same thing if she found Charlotte dead or…worse.

"Come on, Princess!" Merle yelled from the front of the store. "Ain't got all fuckin' day!"

"I took your scotch," Emma said and started unzipping her bag but his hand stopped her.

"I got the good stuff down here in the storage room," he said and then winked at her. "Go left out the front door and then right on Main Street. You're about a mile and a half away from the school. Good luck."

She grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Thank you and sorry about all the…threats and stuff. The boys get a little carried away when a rifle is pointed at one of their heads."

"Oh, here…" He reached behind him and pulled a nice looking machete out from behind the counter. "It's strong and sturdy but light-weight. It'll treat you good. Swipe side to side, not up and down and you'll make clean, quick work of…them."

When she met her two companions at the door, she repeated the directions that the man had given her to the brothers.

"Why should we believe 'im?" Daryl asked. "Guy held a damn gun ta ma head!"

"Cause he gave me this!" Emma said, holding out the machete and slicing it through the air a few times. The grin on her face was slightly maniacal.

Both men backed off and looked at her like she had just asked them to smell her armpits.

"Whoa!" Merle exclaimed. "Ya can't have a weapon like tha'! The sharp end a that thing'll end up in the back 'a my skull, woman!" He went to take it away from her but she held it away from him. "Give it ta me."

Emma put her chin up a few notches. "Fuck you and let's go. We're burning daylight."

Merle growled. "If I feel so much as a draft from tha' thing, Imma take it."

She stepped closer to him and poked him in the chest with her finger. "You…just try."

"Coast is as clear as it's gonna git, ya idiots," Daryl grumbled, cutting off whatever colorful insult was about to erupt off the tip of Merle's tongue. "If we're gonna go, it's gotta be now."

They all took a deep breath as Daryl slowly opened the door. There were a few stragglers stumbling around but they were quiet. It seemed that they didn't do as well in the heat of the sun; their reactions were lazier than at night. The mile and half from Willie's Outdoor World to the school was eventful but it wasn't anything that Dixon brothers couldn't handle. They were in their element and as much as they bitched about being there, they loved every minute of it. It was as if they had been born for the zombie apocalypse which made Emma more than grateful that they were on her side…at least for now.

After they reached the school, they found a quiet alley to perch in so they could regain their composure and figure out a plan. The school looked abandoned. There was occasional movement coming from the surrounding areas, people fleeing or cars trying to make their way around bodies and other vehicles. It took Emma a minute to let it sink in—this was the same beautiful campus that she'd dropped her daughter off at only months ago. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie and Emma hated horror movies. Ever since she saw Freddy Krueger bust through that fucking waterbed and drag Johnny Depp into the mattress, she'd sworn them off. Now, she was living in one.

"That was fun," Emma whispered, sarcastically. She felt a little worthless, only having taken out one zombie and that was even after Daryl had shot a bolt through its throat.

"How much time we got?" Merle asked.

Emma glanced at her watch. "It's a little after three. We should have plenty of time to get up there, get her and get out."

Daryl snorted. "Ya think so?" Emma shot him a confused expression. "Ya really think that we can just waltz in there with no problem, git 'er and git out?"

"Personally, I hate dancing but I'd give my right hand to see Merle waltz anywhere." Both of the Dixons groaned at Emma's attempt to lighten the mood. "And to answer your question, no, I don't think it's going to be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy but you guys are good. This is not even a challenge for you guys." Emma thought about doing some sort of small clap like football teams do when they break out of a huddle but she stopped herself since there were some biters within hearing distance. "So, let's do this shit."

Emma could tell that the pep talk had won them over. Merle cocked his head a little and puffed out his chest while the corner of Daryl's mouth twitched a little.

"Her room is in that big building on the corner—that's Creswell Hall. She's on the third floor in room 322 but I have no clue where the stair well is. When I brought her here, they had an elevator up and running so we didn't need to use it." She unzipped her bag and pulled the flashlight out. "Just in case."

"We stay together," Merle said and stood up. "Let's git tha show on tha road."

The three crossed the street, avoiding any of the biters that were wandering around aimlessly, looking for a fresh morsel of flesh. Emma tried to disconnect herself as they jumped over bodies that had been picked clean; piles of bones that were human just days ago. Her stomach tightened and lurched and her throat grew dry at the sight of the number of dead walking and not-walking that surrounded the school. Her hope that they'd find Charlotte in her room dwindled but there was no going back. She refused to think about what they would do if she wasn't there or if she was… No, she couldn't think about that because she had to fight and kill and protect herself so that she could get to her. The loss of hope would be the death of her.

When they got to the front door, Emma half expected it to be locked but it wasn't. It opened quietly and smoothly just like it would if they were freshmen in college coming back from their classes. The smell inside was death. Rot. Spoiled meat. Emma tried not to puke. The destruction of the lobby was morbid, like a crime scene that hadn't been discovered yet. Blood splattered the walls. Paper littered the floors. The groans of the dead bounced off the concrete walls and echoed around them like some sort of warning of impending demise.

"We gotta find the stairwell," Emma whispered.

Daryl shot her a no-shit-Sherlock look and she shrugged. Emma couldn't help it that she talked when she got nervous and about that time, she just happened to be one incident away from crapping her pants. In fact, she was rather glad that she didn't have any food or water in her system or it would have spurted out of her like a volcano—that's how nervous she was. Lastly, the brothers were incredibly lucky that she hadn't felt the desire to share that with them through a bout of anxious chatter.

They walked down the hallway, a few feet apart, looking around them for signs of movement; ready to stab skulls or cut off heads. Merle kept glancing at the machete in her hand, warning her with his eyes that he'd take it from her if he felt she couldn't control it. She gave serious thought to sticking her tongue out at him but a biter came shuffling down the hallway toward them. It was darker than the lobby but they could still see enough to kill the guy. Daryl put a bolt through its skull and it dropped to the floor like a ton of bricks.

As Daryl reloaded his crossbow, Merle spotted the sign for the stairwell and gave Daryl some sort of hand signal that looked to Emma like he was telling him that he wanted to go steady and take a walk under an umbrella. Daryl seemed to understand and he didn't pull an umbrella out of anywhere so she assumed that she was wrong. Also, the brothers didn't seem like the "go steady" type, especially with each other. Daryl started toward the sign for the stairs and Merle went in the opposite direction leaving Emma torn on which way to go. She picked Merle which was apparently wrong because he mouthed a curse at her when he spotted her and shooed her off in Daryl's direction. She flipped him off and he shook his fist at her. They were like the apocalyptic version of The Three Stooges.

When she got to the door for the stairwell, Daryl nodded at her and put his hand on doorknob. She turned on her flashlight and tried to ignore how shaky the light was. Her grip on the machete was so tight that she could feel her knuckles turning white. For the first time in so many hours, she didn't even feel the pain thumping around in her upper thigh. With a slow turn to his wrist, Daryl pulled the door open just enough to see inside and he was met with a force of biters. It was as if they were waiting for that door to open, standing there on the inside of the stairwell. Daryl and Emma had just rang the dinner bell.

"Fuck!" Daryl cursed as they slammed into the door. He circled around, holding the crossbow in one hand pushing with his back in an effort to close it again. Emma joined him, keeping just out of reach of the graying zombie fingers reaching out of the three inch crack they'd created when they'd opened the door. Groans and the sound of chomping teeth grew louder as they struggled to keep the door from swinging open. By the feel of the power they held on the other side, there was most likely enough biters in there to swarm them so fast, they wouldn't have a chance. Their lives depended on keeping that door closed.

"Where the hell is Merle?!" Emma screeched as her feet slid a little on the carpet.

"Lookin' fer a different way up," Daryl said through clenched teeth.

As much as she wanted to question how Daryl got _that_ out of those weird ass hand signals Merle shot him, she didn't have the time to spare. "Oh shit!" Emma yelled when an entire zombie hand came out and started pawing at the air, barely missing Daryl's forehead. With panicked instinct, she swung the machete at the hand and it thumped onto the bloodstained carpet beside Daryl's feet. "What happened to 'we all stay together' and stuff? That was the plan, right?! That was Merle's plan!"

"Would you shut the hell up!" Daryl growled. "Ain't got time fer yer bitchin'!"

Emma yelped when her feet slid another inch in the wrong direction. She made sure to keep the machete in her far hand so she didn't slip and make one of Daryl's ears just another victim of the zombie apocalypse. "Jesus! We need to just run, Daryl!"

"Fuck no! We gotta git this damn door closed!"

"We…we can't! There's too many of them!" Emma's voice grew frantic as she felt herself slipping. The pain in her thigh was excruciating. She wouldn't be able to hold the position much longer. "We have to make a run for it before they bust through and we are dead! If we run, at least we have a fighting chance!"

Daryl struggled with the idea for a moment, his eyes going down the hallway where his brother had disappeared to. Then he turned his eyes to her and for just a moment—a split second—she saw the concern there; the same concern that he'd had for her back in high school when Brad Garrett cornered her in the girl's locker room after PE class. But then as quickly as it appeared, it was gone as he nodded and said, "On three we run straight down tha' hallway. Follow yer instincts. Ya go first but ya better run like hell 'cause I don't have no qualms 'bout pushing ya over ta git by ya."

Emma nodded frantically and wondered exactly where her 'instincts' would lead her in that hell hole. In fact, she was pretty damn sure that her instincts had flew the coop the second she stepped foot in Athens.

"If I don't…" Emma started but shook her head. "She's in room 322…in case…"

He nodded sharply in return.

"Ya ready?" he asked as their feet slid another half inch.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Gimme tha' thing," he said, nodding toward the machete.

As much as she wanted to argue that it left her completely vulnerable, she handed it over and then pulled one of the hunting knives she'd grabbed out of a sheath on her belt. Daryl took a deep breath before starting the countdown.

"One…"—The groans grew louder as Emma's gut squeezed tight—"Two…"—Daryl got a better grip on his crossbow and Emma clutched the knife in her hand like there was a strong possibility that it would fly away—"Three!"

Emma bolted off the door as fast as she could and ran straight ahead, trying hard not to let her panic overtake her movements. She could hear grunting from Daryl behind her but she didn't look back.

"Go left up here!" Daryl yelled from behind her. "Here!"

She turned around long enough to see him pushing the machete at her and the bulk of zombies ten feet away from their rears. The panic overwhelmed her as she grabbed the weapon and stumbled over her feet a little earning her a not-so-nice look from her companion. Their advantage was speed—these things were slow and had poor coordination. There were so many of them that they tripped all over each other as they reached for their escaping meal. Their biggest disadvantage was that they were running out of room to run. Emma feared that any minute, they'd hit a dead end or run into some more of them and get cornered. Then they'd have no hope.

"Go left!" he yelled again and she did so, making a sharp turn at the next available hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him separate from her, continuing in the direction that they had been running. Regardless of his reasons for doing it—whether that be for her safety, his safety or strategy—he'd left her on her own. The panic and fear that had squeezing her belly like an evil fist spread through her limbs but she didn't have time let it take over. Most of the zombies had followed Daryl but a few had taken her route. As she slowed her pace to take stock in her surroundings, she could hear them groaning and shuffling toward her.

Just when she thought that she'd gotten a good distance away from them, she got to an intersection in the hallway—both directions were zombie filled. She stopped breathing as one by one, they lifted their noses in the air and sniffed like wild dogs searching out rotting meat. As they turned to her, they groaned and started shuffling toward her. There were at least ten from each side, all looking like students that had been holed up there for safety before one or two of them infected the entire bunch. She tried hard not to think of Charlotte being one of those creatures but she couldn't imagine how anyone would survive being in this building. They would have sniffed her out, broken down her door…eaten her.

She cursed the lump that formed in her throat as she back peddled in the direction she'd come as they headed toward her from both directions. Tripping on a fallen body, she cursed and nearly dropped both of her weapons. She glanced at what used to be a young boy, probably a freshman in college ready to start the adventure of this hell called life. As she was pushing herself up off the floor, the young man's eyes popped open, the dull greyness of his pupils and the hiss coming from him gave her enough warning to know that he needed a machete to the brain. Without thinking, she sliced through the top of his head, leaving him slumped on the floor. If she thought too hard about what she'd just done, she would have had a breakdown. No one should know what it feels like to cut off someone's head.

Cursing, she heard the pack coming at her from both sides so she started trying doorknobs. They were getting closer, in sight now and eager to reach her. There was no way, with her lack of skills, that she could take all of them out on her own. Trying the last door, she nearly squealed out of excitement when the doorknob turned easily and the door opened. She stumbled into the room, almost tripping over a chair that had turned over on its side. As she caught her breath, she barely had time to realize that it was some sort of office, before five sets of cloudy eyes turned in her direction.

"Oh shit."

* * *

After leaving his brother and that schizoid woman to look for the stair well, Merle wandered in the opposite direction in search of a quiet place to bust out his coke. He couldn't argue that it was bad timing for him to fulfill his craving but when his lady comes a calling, he always fuckin' answers. Lady Snow was demanding like that. So, he walked down the hallway, sticking a hunting knife through a few brains as he cautiously stepped over downed bodies on his search of the perfect spot. He found a bathroom, stepped inside and grinned when he found it empty. With a groan, he pulled out his baggy full of the precious white dust and lined some up on the white, porcelain sink; he was a pro at this and it only took a him a couple of minutes to snort two lines. Afterwards, he let his back slide down the wall and his ass hit the cold tile as the drug rushed through his weary system. He felt cold and hot at the same time and he suddenly grew so damn tired. All he wanted was five minutes of shuteye—that wasn't too much to ask for a hardworking man who'd just rescued a bitch several times over.

That woman. With that smart ass mouth and lack of fuckin' gratitude. Why did he keep comin' to her rescue? He supposed that she was rather entertaining at times and her tits gave him something to look at when she bent over but it wasn't enough to keep him there. All he knew was that when this whole rescue was over and done with, the brothers were gone whether Daryl wanted to or not. He'd drag that little shit away by the earlobe if he had to. After they'd found the girl, they were on their own. Keeping that woman with them was just a liability that the two of them didn't need. Especially with that damn machete in her hand; one of them was likely going to lose an appendage.

Just as Merle was making the silent pledge to be done with that woman, he heard the door to the bathroom he was in, open in a jiffy. Merle's eyes snapped open but he couldn't find the energy to actually get up to fend off whatever attacks that would come at him. He did manage to raise his knife; however, he didn't need to since it had been his brother that had walked in on him. Daryl was leaning against the bathroom door, his chest heaving with breath and his forehead resting against the wooden door. He didn't even appear to realize that Merle was there which was stupid on Daryl's part; Merle could have been a fucking biter and that dummy wouldn't have seen him.

So Merle decided that it was as good 'a time as any to teach his brother a lesson.

As quietly as he could, he stood up and crept over to his brother who was still clutching onto the door like a little pussy holdin' onto his momma. Merle came up behind him, grabbed onto Daryl's head and stuck his knife on the pulse point at his throat. Daryl struggled but was careful of the threat sticking into his jugular; a drop of blood oozed from the connection.

"Ya better feel real fuckin' lucky right now, baby brother," Merle said and he felt Daryl's body go lax. "I coulda taken a nice big bite outta your ass an' ya wouldna been able ta stop me."

"Git yer fuckin' knife off ma throat," Daryl growled. "If ya was a biter, I'd a heard ya shuffling toward me. An' they make that moanin' sound."

Merle pushed Daryl harder onto the door, making him knock his head on the hard wood. "Keep ya head up, boy, at all times," Merle whispered harshly in Daryl's ear. "This ain't a game an' I ain't gonna be around ta save yer ass all tha time."

The older Dixon stepped back and watched as his brother turned around to face him. "Exactly what were you doin' in here?" Daryl looked around, his eyes focusing on the baggie of white powder that was still sittin' on the sink. Merle mentally cursed a red streak because he could have walked off without it, having forgotten to put it back in his jacket pocket. "Yeah…yer keepin' yer head up, I see."

Merle sneered as he grabbed up the baggie and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "Where's Princess?"

Daryl stared at him for a minute and then snorted. "Got separated. While you were in 'ere…" Daryl thought twice about his words before continuing which was a smart move if you asked Merle. "We ran inta a buncha biters an' we got separated."

Merle grunted. "Well, I guess we should go an' find 'er."

"Fuckin' bad out there, bro. There were at least thirty of 'em in the stairwell." Daryl pulled his pistol out of his pants. Without making eye contact with his brother, he asked, "Yer head clear?"

There wasn't anything cute about Daryl's bashful question. Merle pressed his molars together and snarled, "Ma head is fine." He pointed his chin toward the pistol. "Jus' don't use tha' thing 'less ya hafta. The noise would attract every ugly motherfucker in this place."

Daryl shifted a little on his feet, looking so close to uttering an apology but he didn't; instead, he turned toward the door and opened it quietly and slowly. It didn't take long for a biter to take notice. It rushed toward them, glasses all askew on its face; teeth chomping together as the smell of fresh meat invaded its nostrils. Daryl plunged his knife through his eye socket and pulled it out as it fell to the floor.

As they maneuvered through the hallways, taking out biters and searching for Emma, Merle grew agitated quickly. They were running out of time. "Where tha hell'd she go?"

"Mebbe she went on upstairs," Daryl suggested.

Merle grunted. "Ya think she got eaten?"

Daryl watched a biter stumble toward them as he said, "Let's try ta make it upstairs before we run outta time."

There wasn't anything about that idea that he didn't agree with so why did Merle suddenly feel like they were making a mistake. His stomach got all twisted and his muscles grew tense at the thought of leaving Emma down there while they ventured up the stairwell. His instincts had always been spot on and he wasn't about to start questioning them now.

"Imma keep lookin' down 'ere," Merle told him. "Ya go on up there and see what ya can find."

Daryl's eyebrows furrowed a little and he looked like he was going to argue so Merle started walking, a hammer in one hand and a bowie knife in the other. They didn't have time to bicker and argue like a couple of bitches 'cause that place was getting lit up in a just a few hours.

As Merle ventured through the halls, he found himself being relieved when he'd reach the end of one and not find her body lying on the ground, half eaten. Not that he cared at all for the woman but seeing anyone that you knew with chunks of flesh ripped out, couldn't be a pretty sight to see. On that note, he started beating himself up for not going up there with his brother; he's chosen to look for this woman, that he cared nothing for, than go up and help his brother. In a flash of panic, he imagined his brother being overtaken; bite-fulls of his skin and muscle being torn apart by black teeth and swallowed into hallow bellies.

Damn this girl. If Daryl died, he'd surely take it out on her ass whether she's a zombie or not.

Just as he was about to say "fuck it" and head up to check on his brother, he heard some growling and moaning coming from multiple biters. When he rounded a corner, he found at least five of them clawing at a door and a big smile broke out on his face.

"Fuckin' finally," he whispered to himself as he steadied the knife in his hand.

Taking out biters had become much easier since they'd started their journey. Merle was already trained in the art of killing from his days as a Marine but now that he knew his enemy much better, the task was simple: Take out the steadiest biter first and then move along the line until they're all dropped. As he pulled his knife out of the last zombie standing, he put his ear to the door. Nothing. With a shrug, he turned the doorknob and pushed it open.

At first, he thought that there was no one in there…no one alive, anyway. There were bodies strewn about the room, a wooden chair broken into pieces and black blood covering the furniture. That's when he noticed that the dead had head wounds which meant that someone had taken them out. His eyes searched the office, a breeze kicked up and blew the red, thick curtain aside so he could see the open window. He stomped over and looked out to see a fire escape just to the right, similar to the one they'd used to get into that hunting store.

"Well, I'll be damned…" he said to himself as he surveyed the room once more. "She took all 'a them ugly mother fuckers out."

Quickly, Merle checked the whole incident off as dumb luck since he was certain that woman was completely useless when it came to fighting. She had some bow skills but nothing worth shouting about. There was no way she could have done this without some serious luck and that bad ass machete.

Merle took the same route up as she had by climbing out of the window and going up the metal fire escape to the third floor. When he got up there, he noticed that she had to break the window to get in and there was red blood pooled on a spot on the floor. She had cut herself which would attract every biter in the place. He climbed through, glancing at the large rock she'd used to break the window; he wondered if she had climbed all the way up, realized that she'd need something to break the window or if she'd been smart enough to grab something before she climbed up the first time. He was betting on the former.

He followed the drips of blood, swiping at one along the way and noticed that it was still pretty wet. She wasn't far ahead of him. It wasn't long before he spotted her, cornered by a couple of biters. It looked like she had a handle on things but his patience had run out so he took one out before she had the chance to swing her weapon at it.

The first thing he noticed was that she didn't look good. At all.

"Thanks," she whispered, out of breath from the ordeal. She was clutching onto her forearm where blood had soaked through what appeared to be a shirt sleeve. The whiteness of her face was alarming and he could see her swaying on her feet as she stood. The blood seeping through the cloth was thick and wet; she was going to need stitches quick.

"Ya gonna make it?" he asked, nodding at her arm.

She shrugged. "We'll see, I guess."

"Let's git a move on it, then."

They moved through the hallways, seeing downed biters with neat little holes in their forehead having been taken down by Daryl's crossbow. Merle had taken to holding onto Emma's elbow, holding her up and dragging her along at the same time. Finally, they arrived at room 322 one hour and ten minutes after they'd arrived at the dorm. Merle took one glace at Daryl and knew that it wasn't good news.

Emma went to open the door but Daryl grabbed onto her wrist, shaking his head. "Ya don't need ta go in there."

"Why? She's not in there?" Either the panic or the blood loss was making her voice shaky. Her eyes blinked lazily and she was clutching onto Daryl's shirt to keep herself upright. "Daryl…"

"We need ta…She's in there but…" Daryl started but couldn't finish as the grip of her hand on his clothing grew tighter. "I'll do it."

Merle gave Daryl a look. "Nah, I'll go in an'—"

"Fuck that," Emma growled and pulled open the door.

Merle wasn't sure what she planned to do as she rushed into the room. All he saw was a flash of blonde hair, a slice of a machete and black blood before the sound of Emma's scream echoed through the hall.

* * *

_**A/N: Put those tomatoes down, ya'll! I have half of the next one written already! Don't hate me! Do you think it was Charlotte? Did Emma just off her own daughter in biter-form?! HOLY HELL! Review and let me know that you're still with me in spite of the long ass break between chapters! PLEASE! Love ya'll! Thanks for reading :)**_


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_**A/N: Hey ya'll! Thanks for not giving up on me on my month of absence! Your reviews made my week :) So, I know you wanna get right to it so... here it goes!**_

_**There's an inspiration tune this chapter :) It's gorgeous. **_

**_Reminder - Mumford And Sons_**

**_"A constant reminder of where I can find her_**

**_A light that might give up the way_**

**_Is all that I'm asking for without her, I'm lost;_**

**_Oh, my love, don't fade away..."_**

* * *

**Chapter**** Fifteen**

Emma fell to her knees. Pain shot up her kneecaps and settled in her hamstrings. The gash on her thigh throbbed; the laceration on her forearm pulsed blood. Her body ached. Her eyes felt like sandpaper. She was weak and tired and so fucking thirsty. But she deserved every pain, every ache and every ounce of weakness that coursed through her body. She'd just put a machete through her own child's head because she'd turned into a flesh eating monster. It had been her fault. She'd told her to stay put; she'd told her that she'd come for her. But she'd been too late. If only she had ran faster, worked harder, been smarter…

What was left?

The thought of being blown to bits was sounded pretty enticing at the moment. Why should she continue in this world where people never died? It was the end anyway so why delay the inevitable?

"Ain't her," Merle said, as he bent over the dead, blonde girl on the ground.

She suddenly grew angry at the man. "How do you know? You only met her once."

He looked up at her, sensing the sudden animosity in her tone and narrowed his eyes. "Twice an' I ain't fuckin' stupid." Merle stood up, his long legs making him resemble a giant when compared to the fallen, young girl below him. "Come look fer yerself. Ain't her."

"If anyone knows her, it's me so just…" She put her palms on the ground and took a deep breath. "…Just go."

She heard movement from behind her. "We need ta git the fuck outta here…runnin' outta time."

"Go, I said," Emma mumbled. "I'm staying here."

Heavy footsteps vibrated the floor beneath her hands but she didn't move. "Git yer ass up."

She half-heartedly swatted at Merle's calf. "I told you to—"

Merle kneeled down beside her and wrapped his large fingers around her upper arms; he pulled her ass off the ground and shook her a little. Pain shot up through her bleeding forearm but all she could focus on was the rage in Merle's blue eyes. She swallowed thickly and just then realized how much she was losing it, how hard she was crying.

"Yer gonna jus' give up? When yer daughter is out there? Ya fuckin' waste of a good cunt." Merle shook her a little harder. In shock, she had zero time to come up with a response before he continued, "I thought ya were a good mama, comin' through this shit ta git to 'er but look atcha! If yer gonna jus' fuckin' give up, then fuckin' fine but if I ever see tha' girl 'a yers again, I'm gonna tell 'er exactly how ya died! Like a fuckin' coward!

He unintentionally spit on her a few times in his haste to get his point across but she barely registered it. Instead, her eyes drifted to the body on the floor and something snapped inside of her. Emma stared hard at the body for the first time since she'd dropped to the floor. Saw the bite wounds that had festered on the girl's forearms. She stared for a minute at her unfamiliar clothing and long blond, straggly hair. The body matched Charlotte's in height and weight and body proportion with her long slim legs and curvy hips. Sure, Charlotte had clothes on that Emma had never seen and the similarities were copious but… Emma cocked her head and squinted to make out the mark—a tattoo—on the back of the girl's neck. Her eyes widened and a shaky smile pulled at her dry, cracked lips.

"You're right," she whispered harshly.

Merle shot her a no-shit-Sherlock look and let go of her shoulders as he stood up.

Emma crawled over to the girl, ignoring every pain that terrorized her muscles as she moved. Carefully, she put her hand on the girl's shoulder and turned her so that she could see her face.

"Oh my God…" she mumbled as she covered her mouth with her fingers. "It's not her."

"Can we go now?" Daryl asked, impatiently.

They left down the fire escape, Emma thankful that the adrenaline from the past ten minutes was keeping her afloat. She knew that she was in trouble with her arm and the gash on her thigh but there wasn't anything they could do about it.

"What about the refuge center?" Emma asked as she limp-jogged across the street. "She could be there."

"They said tha' they're getting as many uninfected outta tha cities as they can," Daryl explained. "We ain't got time ta go lookin' for her. It's prob'ly on tha other side of tha damn city."

"We have at least a couple of hours," Emma argued.

All three of them stopped in the street; both Dixon brothers turned to Emma and stared hard at her.

"Look, I'll go," she said, pulling her back pack off and reaching inside for the map she'd grabbed at the outdoor store. "I can't ask you guys to risk your necks anymore. She's my…"—she carefully avoided eye contact with Daryl as she looked up—"…daughter so I'll go look for her."

"How ya gonna go look fer her when yer ready ta pass out! Yer bleedin' all over the God damn place, woman!" Daryl argued.

"I'll be fine," she said, studying the map. "I'll just take a quick look and—"

"Nah, I'll go," Daryl said. "Merle can take ya outta here and I'll—"

"Christ!" Merle exclaimed, loud enough to draw any stray biters to them. "How ya gonna recognize her, dummy?"

He grabbed the map out of Emma's hands.

"Hey!"

He shot her a shut-the-fuck-up-or-else look that she didn't have the energy to argue with. "I'll wire a car up and go over, take a look and then meet ya'll on the East side 'a tha city. Where we left the mutt." He glanced at the map and followed it a little with his finger. "Don't wait fer me. Jus' git tha hell out as fast as ya can."

"Merle…" Daryl protested.

"Jus' do what I tell ya," Merle ordered and stalked off before anyone could argue.

Emma stood watching him walk away with wide eyes and her mouth agape. Daryl turned toward her, took the pack off her back and slung it over his own shoulder. She felt weak and helpless and she didn't like the sight of Merle walking away any more than she liked the thought of Charlotte still being in the city. What good would that do; for Merle to die in an effort to find her daughter? She wanted to call out his name and stop him. What she really wanted to do was make the Dixon brothers leave and go looking for her girl on her own. Struggling to stand upright, she realized that it wasn't possible. Her body was too beat up to go scavenging the city, looking for someone who was possibly not even there.

Emma never thought she'd say this but Merle had become her hope.

"Ya comin' er what?" Daryl asked without turning around.

She started walking, her limp growing more and more prominent as her body became less stable. She still clutched the machete in her right hand like an extra limb. "He'll be okay, right?"

Daryl snorted. "Merle'll be fine. He's always fine."

The two walked to the tree line without any big incidents. Emma kept her eyes behind her and on the horizon, hoping to see Merle followed by a graceful, young blonde. When they reached the tree line, Max came bounding out of the bushes toward them, his mouth turned up into a huge doggie smile. There had been some doubt when she left the dog whether he would have stuck around. Part of her thought that he would have trailed after them into the city and part of her thought his instincts would have made him hightail it out of there. She checked over him for bite wounds, anything to indicate that he'd ran into trouble but all she found were burrs and some caked on mud. He licked at her face every chance he got and she giggled weakly at the love he was showing her. Her exhaustion made her weepy again, much to Daryl's dismay.

"Gotta keep walkin'," Daryl said as he surveyed the area around them. "We gotta git as far away as we can git."

Emma stood up straight as Max circled around her legs and wagged his tail. "We should go get Merle." Daryl snapped his eyes to hers, looking slightly surprised. "We can't just leave him in there with no help."

"He'll be fine," he mumbled. "Let's go."

He started walking away from the city and she reluctantly followed. "How can you just leave him?"

"Merle works better alone."

"Well, what if he gets into trouble?"

"He won't."

"But how do you know? I know you think that Merle hung the moon but the man isn't immortal, you know." Daryl ignored her. "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to him because I was too weak to do it myself."

He stopped in his tracks and turned quickly on his heel. "What game ya playin at, huh?"

"What?" she questioned.

"Ya don't give a damn about ma brother, so what is it then? Ya don't trust him ta look for her? That it? Ya don't think he's gonna actually look for her so ya wanna do it yerself?" Emma shook her head. "Merle might not live up to yer high 'n mighty expectations but if he says he's gonna do somethin', he does it. Got it?"

"Yeah, but that's not what—"

"Zip it or I'm gonna zip it for ya."

Then he was walking again, faster than before, causing Emma to groan out of frustration and pain. The man was killing her, mentally and physically. If she had more energy, she would have picked up a small rock and lobbed it at his head to get him to slow the fuck down. When they were a good quarter mile away from the city, Emma tripped on a tree root and fell to her hands and knees.

"I can't…" she whispered. "I need to…"

It was funny. It must have been some sort of odd environmental side effect of this new, strange apocalyptic world—weeds had never spun like _that_ before. She managed a short, hysterical giggle before everything went black.

* * *

Pain radiated throughout her leg. She groaned and tried to change positions to ease the pain but something was holding her down. Emma opened her eyes and looked around—she wasn't in the woods or her house in Georgia. She was lying in her bedroom in Chicago, the one she had lived in ten years ago; the same room that would creep into random nightmares.

Like this one.

The walls were blue, the curtains, a deep chocolate brown and the furniture was that expensive Cherry Oak that he'd insisted that they buy. She was covered with a pure, white feather comforter and completely nude underneath. In your dreams, you always knew that if you were naked, your brain was either going to conjure up something really good or really bad. The sun was shining in through the window, birds were chirping outside and she could see him, standing in the corner watching her. Her heart sped up and her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of the man that she'd loved, feared and almost killed.

She tried to sit up but something was holding her down. Panicked, she struggled and started kicking her legs and the pain in her thigh grew more intense. Ignoring pain was an everyday thing ten years back so it wasn't atypical for her to keep right on fighting. Because she'd promised Charlotte that she'd always fight.

He chuckled darkly and started toward her. She tried to scream but her throat was so dry, she couldn't manage to form words through her cracked lips. Her thigh burned. Her tongue was heavy and her cheeks wet from tears.

"Did you really think that you could get rid of me forever?" He asked as he bent over her. Gary had always been devilishly handsome. His thick black hair and roguish good looks was appropriate for his career—the stereotypical lawyer. He was hell as a defense attorney but a monster as a man. "I'm always with you, aren't I?" He skimmed her cheek with his knuckles in a tender but threatening manner. "I'll always be with you whether you want me to or not."

The calmness that had been floating in his chilling blue eyes turned into rage in an instant. She knew what was coming and there was nothing she could do to stop it. In a quick move, he grabbed her injured thigh and dug his fingers into the wound. She screamed and fought against invisible restraints. Then he slapped her across the face and her eyes popped open.

Daryl was upside down, looking over her with confused furrowed brows. It didn't take long to realize that he had both of his hands wrapped around her upper arms, holding her down. Both of his knees were perched on either side of her head so he could control her entire upper body. Even though she knew that Daryl would never hurt her on purpose, the dream was still fresh in her mind so she panicked. She pushed herself, trying to get out from under his hold as her lungs seized in her chest.

"Hold 'er still, dammit!" Merle growled.

Emma stopped struggling long enough to take stock in her situation. Her pants were off and Merle was wiping down the gash on her leg with gauze and what she assumed was alcohol.

"Get off me," she said, ignoring how weak her voice sounded.

"Just relax," Daryl said calmly. "Yer leg is pretty banged up. Yer arm is gonna need stitched up."

Deep down, she knew that they were helping her; that they were demonstrating a moment of kindness that she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to repay. But all she could focus on was how claustrophobic she felt, how she was seconds away from a panic attack—coming off that nightmare and being held down by Daryl. It was a bad combination that had her fighting to catch her breath.

"Please…please…just let me go." The terrified plea caught Daryl's attention. "I won't move. I swear. Just let go of me."

Reluctantly, Daryl eased off of her but didn't move from above her.

"Ya kick me again and I'll turn ya over and take ma hand ta ya ass," Merle said with a full out grin. "In fact, go ahead an' kick, Princess."

"I kicked you?"

"Ya fuckin' freaked out," Daryl explained.

A sudden chill ran down her back and over her scalp. "It's freezing out here."

"Ya got a fever. Ya weren't lookin' so hot so we had ta do somethin'."

Merle poured a little alcohol on the gash on her leg without warning and she flinched but otherwise didn't move. "Did you…are you okay?"

The man looked up, unable to hide the slight surprise in his blue eyes but then went back to focusing on her wound. "Fine."

"You didn't find her, I take it."

He grunted out a negative reply.

"Gotta stitch up tha' arm er yer gonna be in a shitload a trouble." Merle looked up again. "Can ya take it?"

Now that he mentioned her arm a second time, she could feel the sharp burn that permeated there; beneath a bandage that had been sloppily wrapped around it. "Yep."

"We ain't got nothin' ta numb it with," Daryl interjected. "It'll hurt like a bitch."

"I've been through this before," Emma said quietly, her eyes focused on the stars. "I can take it."

She could feel the question hanging thick in the air and it wasn't like the Dixons to just let a question hang. So Merle spat it out, "How is it tha' a rich lil' girl like you been stitched up b'fore with no meds?"

Emma closed her eyes and sighed, "A while ago. Chicago. That's all you're getting out of me."

"Yeah, well…whatever," Daryl said. "Whether ya like it er not, I'm gonna have ta hold ya down fer tha'."

While it wasn't going to be pleasant, by the look in the redneck's eyes, he wouldn't give her a choice in the matter. She knew it hurt like a mother fucker to be stitched up without anesthetic and that was when a nurse—a neighbor and friend in Chicago—had done it for her. This was Merle who was most likely not going to be gentle about it.

"Well, got this as clean as I could. Let the air hit it 'till we got ta bed t'night and then—"

They were interrupted by the deep growl of Max coming from behind Daryl. In a flash, all three of them were standing up and looking around for whatever threat Max had smelled or heard or seen in the dark woods. For a moment, they thought he'd picked up on a rodent or possibly the threat had passed them; but then they heard it—the soft sound of a faraway engine. She could see the brothers look at her out of the corner of her eye but she focused her attention on the sky. As the roar of the engine grew louder and louder, Emma's hands formed fists and she held her breath, hoping against all hope that this wasn't the end for Charlotte. The fighter jet shot over top of them, its mission far too important for it to doddle or stray off course; for a few seconds the sound grew softer but then they heard the first loud boom. The second made her remember that Fourth of July when Charlotte was ten—they'd went camping and they watched fireworks from the top of a hill in the middle of rural Illinois. The third boom almost stopped her heart. Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting to feel that innate pain that comes with the loss of a child but it didn't come. Deep down, she knew that she couldn't depend on that most-likely-fake sensation but she couldn't imagine her daughter being taken out of her world without feeling something.

"I suppose it doesn't work that way," Emma mumbled.

"Wha'?" Daryl asked.

She opened her eyes and swiped the tears off her cheeks. "Nothing." She sat back down on the ground, her face growing hot when she realized that she still didn't have any pants on. "Let's just get this done."

Merle kneeled down close to her arm as she lay down on the ground. He gave her a look of warning as he took the needle and thread out of the kit she'd taken from Willie's back in Athens. She turned away, not interested in his lack of faith in her pain tolerance. She let her eyes focus on the darkness of the woods on the other side where the flicker of their fire created an eerie, orange glow on the Oak a few feet away from her. She heard the flick of Merle's lighter as he ran the needle over the flame to make the process as sterile as he could. Daryl sighed as he leaned over her and pressed his palm into the forearm of her uninjured arm and his other hand sank into the shoulder of her injured one. She took a deep breath to stave off the impending claustrophobia that was weighing on her chest.

"Tha more ya fight, the longer its gonna take so I suggest tha' ya don't." There was almost an empathetic tone to the older redneck's voice; almost as if he was sorry he was going to have to do it. When she didn't respond, he grew frustrated. "Can ya fuckin' hear me or did ya pass out again?"

"I heard you," she mumbled to the tree. "I couldn't struggle even if I wanted to with this big oaf practically sitting on top of me."

"Well, 'ere goes nothing. Ya got 'er?" Merle asked his brother.

Daryl's grip on her arm and shoulder grew slightly tighter as he grunted out an affirmation. Emma rolled her eyes. "Do you guys not believe me when I said that I've been through this before?"

Merle poured some alcohol on he wound and she hissed. "Nope," he replied. "I think yer full 'a shit."

The first prick of the needle through her skin make her flinch but she quickly turned back into her statue form. "Why would I lie about it?"

The needle pierced her skin again but this time she didn't budge.

"Well, tell us 'bout it then? Tell us the story about how tha spoiled lil' rich girl had ta get stitches with out numbin' it first?" he goaded. "I'm tha type 'a guy tha' needs proof 'a somethin' before I believe it."

Emma snorted. "Now, I know that's not true, Merle."

"Wha'dda ya mean by tha'?" he asked as he continued stitching her up.

"Well, you just called me a spoiled little rich girl with zero proof."

"I 'member all tha' shit ya used ta have when ya was lil'. Tha' dad 'a yers bought ya anythin' tha' ya wanted. All ya had ta do was snap ya fingers and it appeared b'fore ya tha next day." Merle grunted. "Tell me that ya ain't spoiled."

Emma groaned but she let a smile drift over her lips as she remembered her father. "That was a long time ago. I'm not a little girl anymore."

Before she even had time to regret her words, Merle chuckled darkly and she felt his hand settle itself on her bare knee. "Nah, ya ain't."

Emma jerked her leg away from him in an instinctive reaction and her face burned as she was once again reminded of her lack of pants.

"Jesus, Merle!" Daryl grumbled. "Ain't tha time."

Merle chuckled again. "Aww, c'mon, baby brother! Ya done had 'er! Don't ya think tha' I should git a turn?"

"Christ, Merle," Emma groaned. "I'm not livestock, for God's sake."

Daryl snorted in order to hold back a laugh.

For the first time since he'd started stitching her up, Emma turned to face Merle. He looked more than a little pissed. The man was livid. And with good reason. When Emma was a freshman in high school, one of the girls in her class, that liked to make her existence miserable, brought up the Dixon brothers in an effort to humiliate her. She learned that when Merle was a freshman in high school, he worked the fields at one of the local farms during the summer. There was a rumor that some of the boys working there with him had caught Merle in a very compromising position with one of the farm animals.

While Emma had never thought it was true, she couldn't help but use it against him over twenty years later.

"For tha last goddamn time, I ain't fucked no damn sheep."

She wasn't sure if it was the exhaustion, that silly looking vein popping out of his forehead or if she was at that either-cry-or-laugh fork in the road but she started giggling. And she couldn't stop.

"Hold tha fuck still, woman!" Merle said, clutching onto her hand to keep her still. "I ain't even half way done!"

His face turned red and his nose got all wrinkly and for some reason, it was the funniest damn thing Emma had seen in months. She laughed as quietly and as still as she could but one thing was clear: She couldn't stop. Her stomach hurt and her nostrils ached from trying to keep the sound of her mirth from reaching hungry zombie ears. And it was a good five minutes before she was able to take some deep breaths and glance up at Daryl's upside down face and wouldn't you know it, he was smirking. Now, to some a smirk might not be something to be impressed about but a smirk from Daryl was like gold. And it was the same fucking smirk that graced the pink lips of her daughter when she was amused.

Her giggles ceased in a heartbeat.

"Ya done yet?" Merle asked. "I'd like ta git some fuckin' sleep at some point."

"Yeah, I'm done." Emma took a deep breath and settled back into stone form. "Sorry."

Merle grunted to let her know that he was still mad but he'd forget it for as long as it took to stitch up her arm and then he'd go back to being a dick. Now that Daryl's presence above her had become thick with sadness, the feel of the needle going through her skin was secondary to his weight pressing down her upper body.

"I'm really not going anywhere, Daryl," she said. "You can let go of me."

"Ya let go 'a 'er, lil' brother and I'll beat ya ass ta kingdom come," Merle said, as he poured the last of the alcohol onto the laceration.

Emma sighed and decided to use this opportunity for good instead of evil. She looked up at Daryl and almost felt sorry for him in that moment; knowing what she was going to do and thanks to Merle's threat, he couldn't do anything but suffer through it. "Daryl?"

He looked down at her and frowned. "Wha?"

"You know why I did what I did, right? Why I didn't tell you about Charlotte?"

The man's eyes widened a bit as he looked over his shoulder for some sort of escape or distraction but there wasn't one. No growl came from Max. No trees rustled in the darkness. No sound of jets on a mission. As helpless as he became, she still wasn't sorry that she'd asked the question. It was the only time she'd be able to talk to him about it without him running away like his ass was ablaze.

She caught a glimpse from him in his brother's direction telling him with a simple look to hurry-the-fuck-up. "Whatever."

Emma snorted. "No, not 'whatever'… I need to say my peace so that you understand why I did what I did." She stopped, waiting for him to argue and when he didn't respond, she continued, "I was terrified. And I was sixteen. And I was in Chicago. For months, I'd planned to put her up for adoption." Daryl cut his eyes to her in that moment and she could see him swallow. "But I couldn't. I missed you. And when she was born, she looked so much like you that I couldn't—"

"It don't even matter anymore, anyhow," he interrupted. "This world is shit. Nothin' matters anymore."

Emma shook her head. "It matters. You need to know—"

Merle clapped his large hands together and she jumped at the sound. "All done, Princess."

Daryl removed his hands from her and jumped to his feet in a flash. "Thank fuck. I gotta piss."

Emma sighed deeply; pissed that she hadn't started that conversation as soon as Merle whipped out the needle and thread. "You couldn't just let me finish what I had to say?"

Merle stood up and looked down at her, making it obvious that he was letting his eyes roam over her bare legs. At this point, she was starting to become immune to not wearing pants. In fact, the fresh breeze did wonderful things for the skin on her calves. "Ain't no reason ta git inta shit like tha', girl. It's only gonna piss 'em off so bad that he won't wanna help ya find 'er. Why would ya wann go an' do tha' for?"

Her brows furrowed at his words as he started to walk away. She sat up as he plopped down next to the fire and crossed his feet at the ankles. "Wait. You guys are gonna help me look for her?"

Merle shrugged his big shoulders. "Wha' tha fuck else are we gonna do?" A Cheshire cat grin spread over his face. "Hell, it might be fun!"

With a struggle she wrapped the cleanest bandage she could find around her thigh. Holding back a pained groan, she pulled on her pants and sat down on the opposite side of the fire. "You think she's still alive?"

Another shrug. "She's got Dixon blood so she's got a better chance than most 'a them dumbass idiots out there."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Why the change of tune? Forty-eight hours ago, you were doing everything in your power to keep Daryl from finding out about Charlotte."

Merle's grin took over half his face and she could barely make out his wiggling eyebrows over the flicker of the fire. "Tha' was b'fore I saw them legs 'a yers."

"Yeah, well," Emma sighed as she willed the blood to stay below her neck, "that's the closest you're gonna get to them."

"I was pretty damn close, darlin'." He made some weird clicking noise as he looked at her now-clothed legs that were resting in front of her. She flipped him off and shook her head at him. "Ma brother is gonna stay out there all night, twiddlin' his fuckin' thumbs an' pacin', thanks ta you."

Emma glanced toward the dark trees. "I'll keep watch if you want to sleep. I'm wide awake."

Merle snorted. "I'm goin' ta sleep but it ain't cause I trust ya ta be a look out. Ma brother's out there somewhere, keepin' his eye out."

"You don't trust me to watch your back?"

"Hell no, I don't," Merle said, getting into a comfortable sleeping position by the fire. "I trust tha' damn dog more than I trust you ta keep me from bein' eaten'."

Emma was slightly offended and stayed that way until she heard the sound of Merle's snore. That's when her eyes grew heavy and she realized that the older redneck had been right—she would have fallen asleep on watch faster than a baby in church.

* * *

_**A/: Why, I'd like that have Merle take his hand to my rear. I'm a naughty girl, Merle Dixon and I need to be- Oh! Hello there! Pardon my perversion! I was just...talking out loud there for just a... anyways... *shifts uncomfortably in seat during awkward silence* So, are you glad that it wasn't Charlotte? I had you worried didn't I? So? Where the hell did that girl go? What do you think of our trio? Dysfunctional, yes? Efficient? Most definitely. Stinky? Oh, most positively. I'd like to take Daryl and Merle and give them a good washing. Or two. Probably a week, it would take me thoroughly scrub them clean. Which brother would you like to scrub and which spot would you spend a majority of your time cleansing? I'd tell you but I'm not that kind of girl. HA!**_

_**Please review. I'm not above begging. So PLEEEEEEAAAASSE! :) Thanks for reading! Until next time which will be whenever the hell I get it written and edited!**_


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_**A/N: Well, here we go... have at it, ya'll! Just a warning - Merle might say something derogatory. Surprise surprise.**_

_**Shoutouts~**_

_**Brazen Hussy: Thank you for all your support! I love you dearly for it! Thanks for the review :)**_

_**Emberka-2012: Thank you so much for your review! :)**_

_**FrogsCanBePrincessesToo: Thank you for loving my story and for taking a fancy to our guy Merle :) He's such a hunk, right? Yeah! Thanks for the review!**_

* * *

**Chapter**** Sixteen**

As the three of them made their way back through the woods, Emma wanted nothing more than an Advil. Or a Tylenol. Hell, she would have jumped up and down for an Aspirin. Her leg hurt worse even though it was her arm that had the stitches. The infection festered in her leg and she had to admit that she was more than a little bit worried about the outcome. It was highly unlikely that she was going to come across a doctor anytime soon.

One thing she was happy about was Merle begrudgingly giving her back her machete. He didn't trust her with it but the biter population seemed to triple as they got closer and closer to their vehicles. Emma was disturbed when she found out why they'd left them alone most of the night; Merle and Daryl had set up camp in the middle of a circle of biters that they'd offed. The smell of the things seemed to either repel the walking ones or cover up their own human scent. What bothered the woman the most was that she hadn't even noticed the pungent odor of the things as she slept. She was becoming immune to the smell of rotting flesh and that was repulsive.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as they approached Daryl's Chevy; both brothers were in moods that could rival a thirteen year old girl since they'd woken up that morning. The only thing that seemed to temporarily brighten their spirits was putting a bolt or a blade through the head of a biter. If she thought about that fact too much, she would have been a little worried but she didn't have the energy to dwell on the mental status of her comrades. She had enough problems of her own…

"Oh shit," she mumbled as she approached the space of grass where she'd parked her SUV. "This is where I parked, right?"

"Where else the hell would ya have parked it?" Merle's tone was laced with a pinch of sympathy but a hell of a lotta duh. "Did ya lock the fuckin' thing?"

Emma scoffed. "Of course I locked it!"

"Did ya lock the back door too?"

Her mouth dropped open to respond but then she snapped it back shut when she couldn't recall the memory of locking the rear door to her now-gone vehicle. "I think so."

Daryl groaned and rolled his eyes. Merle muttered some colorful words under his breath.

For a few moments, all four of them, canine included, stared at the spot where the grass was smashed and broken tree limbs littered the ground. Then, as if they could read each other's minds, their eyes traveled to Daryl's truck—particularly the small cab.

"I can ride in the back," Emma mumbled and shrugged for effect.

"I gotta piss," Daryl mumbled as he walked toward the slender line of trees behind them.

Merle snorted. "How's yer ass gonna fit in tha back with all our stuff back there, woman?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Well, I don't want Max riding in the back. I'd rather—"

"Would ya shut the hell up for just a damn second?" Merle snapped as he unlocked the doors to the truck. "I'll git my bike out. Been dyin' ta ride, anyhow."

A comment about mood swings and comparing Merle to a teenage girl getting ready for homecoming was on the tip of her tongue but it never made it past her lips. Beyond the trees, she spotted Daryl heading toward them and he wasn't taking his time. He was running, carrying his crossbow in his hand like he'd just fired it; and he had major company in the dead variety.

"Gotta go!" he yelled.

Merle didn't waste any time as he grabbed Emma's elbow and pulled open the passenger side door of the old truck. He pushed her in, whistled for Max who piled in after her and then climbed in. Daryl tore open his truck door and dove inside like he was channeling Sonny Crockett from Miami Vice.

The truck started to rock as the biters surrounded them. A few of them tried to climb on the hood while others smashed their face up against the windows, leaving a trail of slime and skin in their wake. For a few minutes, every pair of eyes in the truck was fixated on the growing number of zombies encircling the old Chevy.

"Yer an ugly bitch," Daryl mumbled to one of them as she ran her tongue over the passenger side glass.

"Let's get the hell outta here," Merle grumbled as he tossed the keys at his brother.

Daryl turned the engine over and reached for the gear shift but couldn't maneuver it with Max sitting on it. Max gave Daryl a what-ya-gonna-do-about-it look as Daryl looked down at the dog. Unfortunately since Max's rear was nearly on top of the gear shift and his front paws were on the seat, Emma had no choice but to sit on Merle's lap. Thankfully, he hadn't had the thought to be crude about their seating arrangements but Emma knew that when it came to vulgar remarks, sometimes all Merle needed was time. And lack of distractions where in this case, it was zombies.

"What'cha waitin' on?" Merle asked impatiently as a large male biter tried desperately to chomp at the slime-covered window by the older redneck's ear. "This 'en over 'ere is startin' ta give me tha creeps! I think he was a faggot in his ol' life an' there must still be some spark in his brain that 'members his days 'a—"

"Please don't continue that," Emma interrupted. "I'm uncomfortable enough without you spurting out…that."

As much as she meant it, she wished she hadn't said it because her words made Merle completely forget about the homosexual zombie with only a window pane to separate them. A slow grin spread over his face—which was only inches away from her own—and he wiggled a little underneath her. She tried really fucking hard to remain oblivious but she couldn't help but stiffen. Chuckling, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to his chest.

"Jesus, quit it! You smell like raw sewage!" she said, wrinkling her nose at him and pulling away from him.

"Aww…c'mon hunny, ya know ya been thinkin' 'bout sittin' on ma lap since ya was fourteen." He wiggled a little more underneath her. "Take advantage of it an' give 'ol Merle a little satisfaction in a world goin' ta shit."

"Would somebody git this fuckin' dog offa tha goddamn shift?!" It was amazing to Emma that neither brother seemed panicked or even fazed by the fact that they were surrounded. Daryl was annoyed and Merle was, well, Merle was happy. The proof of that happiness was poking her in the hip. Only a Dixon could get a hard on in a life or death situation.

Emma carpe-diem'd that shit and slid off Merle's lap while yanking on Max's collar, essentially making them switch places. She ended up on the seat between the Dixon brothers while Max lay uncomfortable across both her and Merle's lap.

"Well," Merle sighed as Daryl put the truck into gear, "ya missed yer chance."

Emma snorted in response but was far too interested in their escape to continue any sort of verbal altercation with the man. A few biters fell as they drove off, leaving them reaching their long boney fingers out toward the escaping meal. There were two zombies on the hood of the truck and one slid off underneath; all three of them groaned a little at the thump when they ran the body over. The other zombie was hanging on for dear life, his teeth still chomping as his mind could only focus on one thing – food. He hung on until they reached the main road and with a sharp left turn, he slid off and rolled onto the side of the road. As they sped away, he was slowly getting off the ground.

"Where are we going?" Emma asked, more than a little afraid of the answer. She wasn't sure if Merle had been speaking for both brothers when he said they would help her look for Charlotte. Daryl had been pissed at her since her forced questioning the night before.

Daryl sighed. "We gotta find a spot to get the bike out an' maybe clean up a little. Eat somethin'. Then, we'll talk about where she coulda gone, I guess."

A sudden, annoying lump formed in Emma's throat. "You guys…you don't have to do this but I really…" Her voice was cracking causing both brothers to shift uncomfortably beside her. "Thank you."

Daryl kept shifting and looking at anything but her while he drove back in the direction they'd come only 48 hours prior. Merle was running a hand over Max's head, occasionally using the roughness of his fingertips to scratch the back of the dog's ears. If you asked Emma, that's how she knew that Merle had a soft side. He had his holy-shit moments that made her head spin and her teeth grind together but as much as he would deny it, he was a good man. Any man that showed kindness to her dog was okay with her. Unfortunately with the lack of sleep and nutrition, combined with the amount of fear and worry running through her brain, it made her weepy. The only feeling she could relate it to, was when she was four months pregnant and her hormones were so out of whack that she would bawl her eyes out if she burnt her toast.

"Pull yourself together," she whispered to herself.

"Wha'?" Merle asked. "Ya talkin' to ya'self?"

She nodded.

Just when Daryl had stopped shifting uncomfortably, it started again.

"Ya go crazy and ya can find another ride 'cause crazy don't sit well with me," Merle said.

They drove until they found a small clearing with no biters in sight. They piled out of the car and Emma had never been happier to take a breath of fresh air. One thing was clear, all of them were dirty and stunk to high heaven. Emma couldn't remember the last time she ate or drank anything. If they didn't find some sort of water soon, they'd be in deep shit.

"We need ta find some food 'n water," Daryl said, reading her mind. "I'm gonna go out tha' way an' see if there's a stream er anything through them woods."

"You need some help?" Emma asked.

Daryl scoffed. "Well, if I did, I wouldn't be askin' you for it."

As he stalked off, she leaned down and gave Max a kiss on his cheek, earning her a big lick of a dry tongue in return. She giggled and then ordered the dog to follow Daryl, and he did so with zero reluctance. The trust that dog had in her was astounding at times and of course, it made her a little weepy again.

"Shit," she said as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"How's ya leg?" Merle asked, as he rifled through some of their stuff in the back of the truck.

"Hurts like a bitch." Emma put her hand on her burning thigh and sucked a breath in through her teeth. "It's going to need cleaned out again as soon as we can find some fresh water."

Merle pulled a gallon size clear bag out of one of the duffels in the back and started sorting through all the various medicine bottles inside. Eventually, he found was he was looking for and tossed one at her. She caught it and read the label out loud, "Penicillin?"

"Had a little too much fun with a sweet lil' thing I met at Hank's one night. Left me a gift tha' keeps on givin' on ma dick."

"Ah," Emma said, "thanks for sharing."

"Don't worry," he said and added a wink. "Shits gone now. I'm clean as a whistle."

"Good to know in case I run into a desperate, horny apocalypse survivor." She popped open the medicine bottle. "I'll point her in the right direction."

Merle stepped close and ran a finger down her forearm. "I think there's one standin' right 'ere in front 'a me." Emma felt her face heat up and Merle's grin grew as he bit his lip. "Ya know what I wanna do ta ya when ya blush like tha'?"

Emma must have been must more exhausted than she realized because she kinda did want to know what he wanted to do to her when she blushed like that. She wanted to call it morbid curiosity but that secretly horny part of her wanted to know for entertainment purposes.

"I really need some sleep," she replied.

Merle made a weird clicking noise with his tongue and backed away from her, muttering, "Excuses, excuses..."

She took one of the pills and offered the bottle back to Merle. He waved her off, muttering a "keep it" and "got plenty" as he reached into his pocket and pulled something else out. If anyone was a pro at snorting cocaine, it was Merle; he almost made it an art form as he formed two straight lines with a razor blade on the hood of Daryl's Chevy.

"Don't snort up any of that zombie slime," Emma said as she came up beside him.

He looked annoyed by her presence. "Don't ya have somethin' else ta do?"

"Nope."

With a grunt, he pulled a rolled up dollar bill out of the same pocket he kept his baggie of cocaine in. Maneuvering his back to Emma—almost as if he was embarrassed to let her watch—he snorted up both lines. Leaning his forehead on the hot truck, it looked like he felt the effects immediately.

"What's it feel like?" Emma asked.

Merle cracked one eye to peek at her. "Really fuckin' good."

Emma chewed on her lip. "How long have you been using?"

"None 'a yer fuckin' business."

"Well," she sighed, "what are you going to do when that little stash runs out?"

Both eyes popped open this time. "Would ya leave me the hell alone? Yer ruinin' ma high, woman!"

Then he stalked off in the same direction that his brother had gone, leaving her there by herself. With a groan, she let down the gate of the truck and climbed up; she ignored the pain that shot through her thigh. It was amazing how little the gash on her arm hurt and she poked at it to make sure that her nerves still worked in that area. An ache permeated around it with each poke which made her feel better. As she sat there in the hot Georgia sun, for the first time since they'd gotten out of those woods, she allowed herself to think about Charlotte.

"Where are you, baby girl?" she asked aloud.

Charlotte could have gone anywhere. It depended on who she was with and where they were going. The girl didn't know Georgia as well as Emma did so she wasn't even sure she'd be able to go anywhere but back to Emma's house. It was their only option and the only idea that she had—go back to Milledgeville and see if the girl had made her way to the small town in search of her mother.

"Found some water." The sound of Daryl's voice made her jump as he approached from behind her. Max trotted up with him, tongue hanging out and a huge smile on his snout. "Ya need ta be lookin' out behind ya when yer by yerself like tha'. I coulda been the dead er worse an' ya wouldna even known I was comin'." He started rifling through a camouflage duffel in the back of the truck and pulled out a bar of soap. After tossing it onto her lap, he grabbed a gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans out of a different bag. Surprising her, he tossed those at her too and said, "Jus' go in the same direction that I came from. It's only about an eighth of a mile from the truck. Go straight. Ya think ya can handle goin' straight?"

She nodded, still a little in shock from Daryl's unexpected kindness. "Yeah, I think so."

"Keep ya eyes open and take ya machete, jus' in case."

As Emma held the bulk of clothes and bar of soap close to her body, she did as Daryl said and walked straight; keeping her eyes open was a given but she knew what he meant. Gone were the days of careless wandering and sun bathing in a bed of a rusty Chevy. These days, doing those things will get you eaten. Daryl was right—she needed to be more careful.

Relief washed over her as her ears picked up on the sound of running water. Her footsteps grew faster and a smile pulled at her mouth at the thought of getting semi-clean after all the grime and blood that had touched her body in the past few days. Her plan was to hand the soap off to Merle, turn her back while he washed and then take her turn after he'd wandered back to the truck. She didn't need anyone to watch her back as long as Max tagged along with her. Unfortunately, waiting for soap wasn't something that Merle was interested in—he'd already taken off all his clothes, except for a pair of boxers. He was standing in the two-feet-high water, pouring water on his own head with an old bucket. It was hard not to notice all the flexing and rippling that the muscles in his chest and back and…oh, the arms…were doing. She knew that he wasn't a scrawny man; that much could be seen but without clothes on, it was clear that Merle was built like a man. And these weren't the kind of muscles you gain by going to some pansy ass gym after work; these were the kind of muscles that a man earned through hard work and just plain livin'.

She shook herself because if Merle happened to catch her watching him, he'd think she was checking him out and she'd never hear the end of it. Internally, she snorted because she'd never check Merle out like that. Just because she got a little hypnotized by the fact that his biceps seemed to grow twice in size each time he picked up that bucket full of water didn't mean that she was turned on by it. Or that whole couldn't-stop-staring thing she did when she noticed that his boxers had fallen a little too low on his hips and he just happened to have just the slightest bit of hair trailing—

The sound of Max's growl broke her out of her trance (most likely brought on by lack of nutrients and sleep) and she stepped out of the bushes, doing her best to pretend that she'd just arrived. She had the pain in her thigh and lack of food to thank for the paleness of her face. In other circumstances, her blush would have given her away but she was too exhausted to even blush correctly.

Max had caught on to a rabbit that rushed past them, only a few feet away. He pranced a little on his front paws, eager for the chase.

"What the hell…go get it, boy!"

In an instant, the dog was off, chasing after the rabbit like it had just called his momma something nasty. Emma smiled at the image of the dog doing something that he used to love—chase and retrieve. It wouldn't be long before he gave up because he'd never been good at catching live animals but a stick had no chance against his mad retrieving skills.

"Ya bring tha soap?" Merle asked. She tossed it at him and he caught it against his chest. "I'll wash yer back if you wash mine."

Emma smiled. "Oh Merle, you know the answer to that one already." Careful of her leg, she slowly plopped her rear down on the ground by the river and started taking off her shoes. "I'll wait 'till you're done."

"You jus' wanna watch 'ol Merle get all soaped up and slick, don't ya? I should charge ya fer the show." Merle took his lathered fingertips and rubbed his own nipple a little as he waggled his eyebrows at her. "What would ya give me if I lost the shorts?" He played with the hem of his boxer shorts with his thumb, threatening a drop.

Emma barked out a laugh. "I'd give you a sharp rock to the forehead."

Merle chuckled and shook his head at her. "Someday, Princess, you'll be underneath me and havin' the time 'a yer fuckin' life."

Emma snorted and successfully willed her face to keep her secrets and stay colorless. She kept her eyes on the trees where Max had disappeared to instead of on the man washing a few feet away from her. It didn't take long for her to realize that changing the subject was crucial to her sanity.

"Back in Athens, in the dorm, you said that you saw Charlotte twice," Emma stated and she paused long enough to hear him grunt. "Once was at Thanksgiving. When else did you see her?"

After a glance to find that Merle was scrubbing a particularly dirty spot on his left forearm, she looked back toward the trees.

"She came by on Christmas Eve." Emma furrowed her brows at his words but kept her gaze away from him. "Her arms full 'a presents and a pie that she said she baked herself."

"Daryl didn't see her?"

"Nope," he replied. "He'd ran inta town fer some damn reason."

She thought about that for a few beats before asking, "Presents? What kind of presents?"

"Mostly stuff that you get men that you don't really know like a good pair of gloves, a pocket knife and some mixed nuts." He barked out a laugh. "She got ma brother a damn tie."

"A neck tie?" Emma asked, her eyebrows nearly touching her hairline.

"Yep."

She smiled and asked, "What happened to it?"

He shrugged. "Threw it out."

"I wonder why she would do that, after I told her that Daryl didn't know that she was…" Emma took a deep breath and blew it out, suddenly feeling more exhausted than she had five minutes ago. "Please don't tell me that you were horrible to her."

Emma's eyes were still on the tree line when the cold splash of water hit her square in the face. Rubbing her face and sucking in a breath, she heard him say, "Don't git no damn credit."

After all four of them cleaned up and got fresh clothes on, Merle climbed on his bike while Daryl, Emma and Max got into the truck. They'd decided to go back to Milledgeville since it was the only place that Emma could think of Charlotte going; plus they could grab some extra supplies like more food and water.

Two and half hours later, they pulled into Emma's driveway. It looked the same, in spite of the dramatic change that the world had gone through the past few days. She couldn't contain her smile as she climbed out and called for Max to follow her.

"Hey!" Daryl shouted after her. "We're gonna go grab some shit from our place. Keep ya eyes open."

Merle parked his bike and climbed into the truck with Daryl and they were gone, leaving Emma on her own to explore her house. It was more than a little obvious that the brothers didn't believe that her daughter was here. But Emma couldn't help but feel a little hopeful. Just because she hadn't busted out of the front door the minute they pulled up, didn't mean that she wasn't there. However there was that other side of the equation too—what if Charlotte was here but she wasn't Charlotte anymore. After thinking she had killed her daughter in Athens, she couldn't get the disturbing image of zombie-Charlotte out of her head. It was possible that Charlotte got bit and traveled here to get help from her mom. Emma swallowed the lump that had managed to finagle itself into her throat and walked through the front door.

Just when she thought she was immune to the smell of rotting flesh, it hit her smack dab in the face like a putrid fist. The biter—the first one they encountered—was still lying on the floor of her living room; its head a few feet away. She tried to breathe through her mouth but the odor was so thick in the air, it lay heavy on her tongue and her stomach tightened. Running through her living room, she made it to the kitchen sink in just enough time to dry heave several times. Vomiting sucked but dry heaving was a form of punishment invented by Satan himself. It made your stomach twist, your throat ache and your eyes water and all you had to show for it was a little bit of drool. By the time she was done, that gnawing hunger in her stomach had turned into cramps and she swore that she'd pulled a groin muscle.

The house was the same as she'd left it. She was lucky that they lived so far out in the country so the looters hadn't made it to her property yet but it was only a matter of time. After she gave Max a nice helping of dog food outside and opening up her upstairs windows, she made a quick run of packing up everything that they might need or anything that they could use. Just as she was pushing a framed picture of her and Charlotte into a box, she heard the tell-tale roar of a motorcycle engine.

"Shit!"

She tumbled down the stairs and flew out the front door, only to catch a glimpse of Merle before the Triumph disappeared behind some trees. They were leaving her. And why wouldn't they? They had before. The brothers didn't owe her anything regardless of Charlotte being blood related. It had been her fault for never letting them get to know her. It was one thing she'd learned about them since moving back to Georgia—blood was thicker than water when it came to being a Dixon. If she'd only told Daryl years ago that he'd had a daughter, possibly he would have gotten to know her…just a little…just enough to want to keep her alive.

"Any sign of 'er?"

Daryl's voice in her ear made her yelp in surprise but when she saw him standing there, with a hand stuffed into his pocket like a redneck James Dean, tears filled her eyes. Without thinking, she pounced on him and pulled him toward her into a big hug. He stiffened, of course, and tried to pull away but she was so fucking happy that he was still here, that adrenaline made her stronger than she really was. Like one of those moms that lift vehicles off their kids. There was no escape for the poor man.

"Tha fuck is wrong with ya?" Daryl grumbled next to her ear. "She in there?"

Emma pulled away with a grin and shook her head. "I know that was a little out of character for me but I couldn't help myself. I thought you'd left me here but you didn't."

Daryl screwed his face up. "So ya figured tha' ya should hug me?"

She nodded and enunciated her words when she spoke. "That's what normal people do, Daryl, when they are happy to see each other. They hug. Try it when Merle comes back."

"Fuck off!" Daryl spat and pushed at her a little. "Shoulda left yer ass."

Emma laughed, still flying high on the adrenaline. "Where did that rascally brother of yours go anyway?"

Daryl sat down on the front porch. "Went ta see wha' tha area looks like. He thought tha' maybe he could find some useful shit at tha neighbor's houses."

She hummed in response. As horrible as it was to think of going through people's houses and rummaging through their things, it was necessary and it would help them survive. "You eaten?"

"Nope."

"Be right back."

Emma covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she ran through the front part of her house, grabbed a couple of the boxes; then hightailed it back outside to the porch. "Here," she said and tossed a can of peaches at the redneck. "I got pears and mixed fruit, too."

"Mixed fruit's nasty shit," Daryl replied, prying off the tin lid of the peaches. "Save tha' fer Merle."

Emma pried open the pears and handed Daryl a plastic fork. The two ate in comfortable silence, finally happy to get something in their stomachs besides beef jerky and granola bars. Emma felt like she'd aged five years in the past few days and the only thing that she wanted more than a hot shower was her baby girl back.

"Where to, now?" Emma asked. "I have no idea where she would go if she's not here."

"Ya sure we shouldn't stay here for a few days? Maybe she'll show up."

Emma chewed on that question for a moment. "Maybe."

Daryl tossed his can down into the grass just as Merle was pulling into her driveway, empty-handed. "Wha' 'bout the refugee center in Atlanta?"

A chill ran up her back. "I'm sure if they bombed Athens that they did the same to Atlanta. But maybe she was heading in that direction or met up with some survivors outside the city."

"Well," Daryl said as he stood up, "best git a move on, then."

Emma followed suit and stood up, even though she had a terrible feeling about leaving her home. She wasn't sure how but she was certain that she'd never see it again.

* * *

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since they'd left Milledgeville in search of Charlotte. They stuck around Atlanta, moving every couple of days to see if they could find some sign of survivors. Charlotte, they didn't find but survivors, they did. Emma learned a valuable lesson each time they'd come across somebody new but the most important one was that people had changed. They were desperate and scared and sometimes terrible. She also learned how important her comrades were to her too because she could see how some of these survivors would look at her when they'd come across them. It was like the dark side, that was hiding inside, suddenly burst out of people after the dead started rising. The Dixon brothers weren't overly-protective of Emma by any means but just their presence alone kept wicked things from happening. One day as they were she was walking through the woods between Daryl and Merle, the wacky writer in her thought of a little motto for them—"They keep the kidnappers at bay and the weirdoes away; from June all the way through May."

One day, while they scavenged a little convenient store, they ran across a group of men—there were four of them—and a woman. It was obvious that the woman didn't want to be with those men. Even though her hands weren't tied and she wasn't in bad shape, Emma knew that imprisoned look—the downcast eyes and stiff body. As soon as they left, she told the brothers that they should do something to help her.

"Why? An' git ourselves killed?" Merle asked as he loaded a box of newfound canned food into the truck.

"She's scared! Who knows what those assholes are doing to her." Emma ground her molars together as she watched them walking off in the distance.

"Ain't our business," he replied. "How ya even know that she doesn't want ta be there with them? Ya got a crystal ball er somethin'?"

"I just know." She shifted a little on her feet. "What if that were Charlotte and her only chance was other survivors like us? What if they just passed her up, afraid to risk their own necks to save her?"

Merle turned to her, agitation plain on his face. "Was tha' 'er?"

"You know it wasn't but—"

He got closer to her and as difficult as it was, she held her ground. "If it was, we'd 'a gotten 'er but it wasn't so, it ain't our business. Dippin' inta other people's shit is only gonna git us killed an' I'll be damned if Merle Dixon is gonna exit this fucked up world by bein' a fuckin' hero."

"I hate to break it to you, _Merle Dixon_, but every fucking day that you help me look for Charlotte, you're being a _fucking_ hero." Emma cringed at how lifetime-movieish she just sounded and it earned her a snort from Merle. "Maybe those assholes would trade some food for her. We could just give them some food and they'd let her go."

Merle snorted. "Yeah, or maybe they'd want to trade you fer her. Ever think 'a tha'? Or maybe, they'd put a bullet through me an' ma brother's heads an' then ya can join tha' girl. Wha' 'bout tha'?" He pulled his little cocaine baggie out of his jean motorcycle jacket, along with his rolled up dollar bill and razor blade. "Ain't our fuckin' business and ya best learn ta deal with it. If yer gonna survive, ya gotta put yerself first."

It was a hard pill to swallow—to watch that group disappear around the bend, knowing the misery that that girl was going to experience. Without help, she was destined to die early and the sad part is that she would welcome death with open arms. However, there was a lost girl out there that needed Emma and Merle was right—if they were going to risk their lives, they had to be positive that the outcome would be worth it.

On the fourteenth day of being on the move, and Emma was exhausted and craving so many things that it was torturous: A shower, real food, and a roof over her head. All those things were materialistic, she knew, but when you'd lived your whole life having those things, they got hard to live without. It was getting harder and harder to think about Charlotte without getting weepy. As she sat beside the fire at night, she wondered where she was and if she was hurt or sick or alone. She prayed that she at least had someone with her that she could trust; someone who wasn't like those four men who were leading that poor girl around and doing God knows what to her.

They'd found a little store and holed themselves up in it, looking at a map and trying to figure out where they hadn't been yet. When they settled on a destination for the next day, they plopped down on the floor and Merle cracked open a bottle of cheap whiskey he'd found in the back. They passed it around and each of them took a healthy pull from the bottle. There was a melancholy feeling floating around, somewhere between surrendering and questioning the point of what they were doing. And it wasn't just the brothers, it was Emma too.

She'd had this fantasy when they first started out—they'd drive around a couple of days and suddenly, they'd find Charlotte, safe and sound. The two women would embrace and cry and Daryl would get a chance to really get to know his daughter. Two weeks ago, it hadn't been a fantasy but now, she was realizing that finding Charlotte wasn't going to be easy and it might possibly take years. She was finally coming to the conclusion that she might never see her again.

In an effort to get her mind off the present miserable situation, she brought up a different topic about a separate miserable situation. "So, whatever happened to your old man?" She wasn't directing the question at either of them in particular but she was certainly not expecting Daryl to answer due to his fear of all conversation in regards to emotional subject matter.

"He died when tha house burnt down a while back," the younger redneck replied.

Emma nodded as Max flopped down beside her. He put his chin on her thigh and let out a deep, sleepy sigh. "Were you in the house when it caught fire?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, but Merle was home. Barely made it out b'fore it collapsed. He tried to pull ma Daddy out but…" He finished with a shrug. "Merle was in tha hospital for a week."

Merle was uncharacteristically quiet. She wondered why he would attempt to rescue a man that had beat both of them to a pulp for so many years of their lives. But there was that whole blood-thicker-than-water motto that The Dixons carried around like a fucking crucifix. She imagined it being written on a large banner at all their family reunions and it was all misspelled and written in crayon. There was no way she'd complain about that motto though; without it, they wouldn't be there with her in that moment, risking their necks to find kin that they didn't even know.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Daryl snorted. "I'm not."

And that was the end of that. Daryl got up and stalked back to the rear of the building and Merle went in the opposite direction.

"Well," she grumbled to herself and ran her hand over the soft fur on Max's head. "I guess it's just you and me, handsome."

The next day, Daryl and Emma were packing up their truck while Merle was filling the gas tank on his bike. They'd found a few things in the little store—some food and an old first aid kit from behind the counter. There hadn't been running water but they hadn't expected it. Running water was like hitting the lotto during an apocalypse. Just as Emma was double checking the store for anything left behind, she heard the deep growl of her faithful canine.

"What is it, bud?" Emma asked softly as a second, growl burrowed from his chest. She walked over to the window to peek out but all she could see were the brothers, packing up their shit. A normal dog wouldn't have worried her so much—she could brush it off as a dog just being goofy but this was Max. Six years ago, after she'd published her third book, she found an agency online that trained security dogs. Most of these dogs would go to police departments or government agencies since most people wouldn't spend that much moolah on an animal; instead, most normal people would get a security system and a Doberman from a backyard breeder. But Emma was different. After spending years of her life being afraid, she decided that she needed something dependable to solidify her safety. Sure, she'd spent thousands on therapy and it had been years since Gary had been put behind bars but that didn't take away her nightmares. That didn't erase that deep-seeded fear that someone out there would want to hurt her and they'd go to great lengths to make that happen. Gary had connections outside of prison, after all and she didn't know how far he'd go to see her dead after what she'd done to him. Max had been trained to protect her. And he didn't growl unless he detected a threat. Sure there were times when wildlife would get him worked up but the dog was a professional and when he spoke, you fucking listened.

Following her instinct, she rushed to the other side of the store and peeked out the window.

"Jesus fuck," Emma murmured.

There were more biters than she could count, shambling toward the little store like they were on some cannibalistic mission and their orders were to eat as fast and as many as they could. Emma jumped when one ran into the window and started doing the tongue-licking-teeth-chomping thing that they like to do on glass when a live person is behind it.

Max came to her side and growled again. Emma shushed him so they wouldn't hear and ran to the window where she could see the Dixons about fifty yards away. Their backs were to her, as they were kneeled over what looked like a duffel bag full of clothes. Daryl pulled out a flannel shirt and held it up, looking at it with a cocked head. Merle pointed to something on the shirt and Daryl threw it back in the bag. What the fuck were they doing? Trying to find a matching outfit? She'd have to have a talk with them about this and hopefully, they'd all make it to tomorrow so they could have it; because it was going to be a good one that would probably end with her insinuating—in a joking manner, of course—that one or both possessed a limp wrist.

She shook her head and gulped because if either of the brothers didn't make it through this, she'd fucking miss them a hell of a lot. But she had to do something or they were all going to die.

So she ran really fucking fast.

Emma was impulsive but that didn't mean that intelligent thoughts came to her any faster than anybody else. Her heart raced as she rushed toward the men, hearing Max barking viciously beside her. The sound of his bark made Daryl and Merle look up from where they were kneeling. As they stood, she could see the calmness melt off their faces like ice.

"Get in the fucking truck!" Emma yelled as she ran toward them.

Merle ran toward his bike as Daryl flew into the truck. She was almost there…so close… A yelp stopped her in her tracks. Her feet slid on the gravel as she turned around to see Max surrounded and a few closing in on her.

"Max! FUSS!"

It was a command and under any other circumstances, he would have obeyed but he was doing what he did best—protecting her. He avoided their slow reaches as he dug into their disintegrating calves as they shambled toward Emma. When he noticed another one moving in her direction, he'd go for that one.

"Max! FUSS!" She yelled with all her might. Panic seized her lungs and her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

"Get in tha fuckin' truck!" Daryl yelled at her as the swarm of zombies zeroed in on them, most of the clambering toward the dog that was darting between their legs.

She pointed to her dog. "I can't! We have to wait for him! He'll come! Max! Fuss!"

With shaky fingers she found her machete, hanging from a belt that Merle had fashioned for her so that she could carry it with her wherever she went. The sound of Merle's bike revved as she pulled it out of its place and held it in front of her, prepared to help Max out of his predicament.

But there were so many that she didn't know where to start.

She sliced through one that had gotten close and then another and another…

"Woman! If you don't git in this fuckin' truck, I'm gonna—"

Another and another and another… If she could thank the zombie apocalypse for something, it would be how handy it's made her with a machete. Bring it on, Jason Vorhees.

A yelp. Another yelp. She couldn't even see the dog now, through the fog of dead bodies walking around. Gulping down panic, she silently promised Max that she wouldn't leave him; that she'd get him to safety no matter what she'd have to do to make it happen.

She didn't even notice Daryl pull away from her, running over the walking dead like a semi running over deer. She also didn't notice how loud Merle's bike had gotten since he pulled up right next to her because she was too busy trying to spot Max in the crowd. Merle grabbed her wrist, the one holding the machete, and pulled her toward the bike. At first, she fought him and wanted to yell at him to just leave her but as he cursed at her and ordered her to get on, she spotted his pale blue eyes. She'd never noticed that Merle shared Daryl's blue eyes. He also shared Charlotte's and that was what she needed to think about; that was what she needed to keep living for.

Glancing behind her one last time, a zombie rushed at her but was met with a bullet through the skull thanks to Merle's revolver. Not bothering to breathe away the lump in her throat, she let out a sob as she climbed on behind Merle and grabbed a fistful of motorcycle jacket on each side. As much as she wanted to look away from the mob, she couldn't help but stare until they were out of sight. She couldn't help but to notice the fresh blood on their lips and temporary satisfaction in their dead eyes as they drove out of sight.

* * *

**_A/N: RIP Max. :( _  
**

**_So, what did ya'll think? What was your favorite part? Merle in his underwear? Daryl getting a hug? Would you rather have the next chapter in Merle perspective or Emma perspective? Let me know! Review, please!_**

**_FIC REC: If you guys like Meth-not the drug, the couple-PLEASE go read Brazen Hussy's In His Own Image. It's amazing. And hot. And I want moooooore! It's a killer fic with a killer author! _**

**_We're getting reeeeaal close to the good stuff, folks!_**


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_**A/N: Okay, so I struggled like a bitch writing this one. I don't know what it was. There's some stuff coming up that I'm getting anxious to write so my brain wouldn't let me think of anything else. Sorry if I disappoint!  
**_

_**For my reviewers, I adore you. I can't tell you that enough. Lilone - you'll get your Daryl discussion soon enough...I promise.**_

_**So, last night we left, Max had just perished at the hands of zombies. :( Sad panda.  
**_

_**Thank you for sticking with this little story! I hope you like!**_

_***Also, I have no idea how much chapter numbers got fucked up so just go with it...lol ***_

* * *

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

Merle was tired of this shit. No, "tired" wasn't even the proper adjective to use; more like fuckin' fatigued from having to deal with Emma's crap. It had been three days since they'd driven away from a bunch of zombies feasting on Max and Emma still wasn't herself.

It wasn't like Merle wasn't sympathetic. He didn't even say anything when she cried and snotted all over his back for twenty minutes after he pulled her onto his bike that day. He knew that losing that dog was like losing a family member for her so he didn't give her a verbal kick in the ass like he wanted to. Instead, he just let her do what women do best—bitch and moan about the state of her life. At first, he didn't particularly care about all the bitchin' and moanin' because as much as he complained about her, he actually sorta liked the woman. She didn't cry too much and she didn't really complain about being dirty and hungry and tired like a majority of women would. Typically, the woman took things in stride and was quick on her feet. And she was fuckin' hot when she put that machete blade through a fuckin' zombie skull, that was for sure.

But then the bitchin' and moanin' reached a new level. She'd just snapped at him for takin' a piss too close to where they were camping for the night and that was it. He'd had it. There would be no more kid gloves for Merle Dixon when it came to Emma Whitfield. Her time for mourning was over, in his opinion. It was time for some good old fashioned Merle Dixon tough love.

"I can piss wherever tha fuck I wanna piss, woman!" Merle yelled.

"No you can't," Emma said, getting up off the ground. "You can't piss uphill like that. It'll just dribble down here and go all over all our stuff."

Merle ground his molars together. "Tha' go'damn tree is ten feet away! Ya think I got super piss? Tha' it? Does ma piss not stop for nothin' in its path?" Something struck Merle and he actually smiled a little. "Ya on yer period er somethin'? Is tha' why yer all bitchy?"

Emma made a noise that went right through Merle. It was that same noise that people made when they thought he was just an uneducated hick who didn't know his right from his left. He'd heard it plenty in his life but he never really expected it from her. That was one reason that Merle didn't really mind her presence—she treated both Dixon brothers like people. It didn't sound like a lot but when you were treated like shit by your Daddy, ignored by your Mama and dismissed by just about every other fucking person along the way, it meant a little something. Not that Merle would ever, ever admit that but deep down, he felt it.

Merle got right into her face, ignoring the fear in her eyes as he towered over her. "Ya better adjust tha' fuckin' attitude er we'll leave yer ass faster than ya can say 'biter food'. Ya got tha'?"

"Might as well," she mumbled as she suddenly found a rock on the ground really fucking interesting. She kicked it around with the toe of her boot. "That's what we do, isn't it? Leave others behind?"

The older Dixon brother had never hit a woman. There were times growing up that he'd wanted to, for damn sure, but he never could bring himself to do it. He always remembered being beaten by his Daddy as a boy, knowing how it felt to have a more powerful force coming at you out of anger. It wasn't that he didn't think some women deserved it; some of them seemed to just ask for it but he could never follow through with that kind of anger. But this one, in front of him, was pushing her luck.

"Ya blamin' me for tha' dog 'a yers?" he spat.

She avoided his eyes. Instead, she kicked a little more at that rock and didn't reply which he took as an affirmative. That sent his blood boiling. He grabbed her upper arms and shook her a little. She responded with a soft, surprised gasp and she began struggling in his grasp.

"Let me go," she said through clenched teeth.

"Ya know tha' I woulda saved tha' mutt if we coulda," he said, ignoring her order. "I liked his ass more than I like you!"

He pushed her away and she almost fell as she tripped backwards over her back pack. She looked at him like she hated him; like she blamed him for everything—the dog, her daughter, the fucking zombies. Fuck her. Fuck this whole fucking situation.

"Fuck you," he hissed. "I'm gonna go fer a walk. When I git back, me an' ma brother are gonna pack up our shit and go to tha cabin." Emma's mouth fell open but he didn't give her time to reply. He pointed harshly at her as he spat, "Yer on yer own."

He passed his brother as he stalked off into the trees. "Pack up yer shit."

"Wha'?" He was holding four squirrels on his line that he'd just caught out in the woods. It was their typical breakfast these days. "We're leavin'? I thought ya said tha' we should stay 'ere fer a coupla days an' regroup."

"Yeah, well, changed ma mind," Merle snapped. "Princess is stayin' 'ere."

"Wha'?"

"Ya sound like a fuckin' retard! Can ya say anythin' but 'Wha'' all the fuckin' time?!" Merle yelled, particularly proud of his imitation of his brother as he walked away. "Jus' do what I say!"

"Tha fuck crawled up yer ass?!" He heard Daryl yell from behind him; but he was too far away and too damn bushed to tell him that he was sick of dealing with that woman's shit.

Typically, Merle was quiet as a mouse when he walked through the woods—especially these days—but he was getting all his aggression out through his boots. Twigs snapped, things were kicked and he even grumbled out a few curse words as he walked to no particular destination in the woods. He wasn't worried about getting lost. Merle Dixon had a built in compass that had been installed in him as a boy by cold, hard reality. That time that his daddy left him out in the woods, saying that he'd "be right back" was the last time that he'd be somewhere and be clueless on the direction he needed to go. Luckily, he found his way home the next morning but being lost was a feeling that Merle didn't like and he vowed to never go through it again. It was one characteristic that made him such a good Marine.

When he'd walked a good quarter of a mile into the woods, he stopped and took in his surroundings. He didn't see any biters. The sky was cloudy and gray, and the air was thick with the smell of wood and grass and pine. Merle closed his eyes and leaned his back on a tree. He knew what he needed to help him calm down. He needed his lady—the only lady that had never let him down. She'd take all the anger and aggression and hate, roll it up into a nice ball and kick that fucker into those gray clouds. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his baggie of pretty white dust and sighed.

It was almost halfway gone.

More often than not, he wondered what he was going to do when the shit ran out. If he had the choice, he'd snort the shit for the rest of his life which wouldn't be long considering he was a little closer to the bottom of the food chain. He'd be more than happy to make it his mission to go hunt for more but his dumbass little brother would never go for it. He'd whine like a pussy if Merle wanted to head into the inner city in search of the drug and Merle had heard enough whining to last him a fucking lifetime. He'd have to wait until they were settled in the cabin before taking a little trip…

Merle searched for a clean spot to snort some snow and found it on a nice big rock near a stream. He did his thing and within five minutes, he was flying…soaring…calm… Like suddenly, all this shit that he was upset about didn't even fucking matter anymore. He wondered why everyone didn't snort this shit; they didn't know what they were missing.

While Merle was flying high, he thought about their next move—the woman would stay here while the two brothers would go to their little cabin in the north. They'd hunt and eat well and at the end of the day, they could sit in silence; there wouldn't be any questions or griping or womanly shit going on. He wouldn't have to worry about no woman when she'd go off to take a piss in the middle of the night. There wouldn't be any need to search the feminine hygiene section at every fucking store they looted. It would just be two men, two brothers, doing what they'd always done best—survive.

He couldn't help but think about what her next move would be, though. Where would she go without them? He'd wire up a car for her so she'd have some mode of transportation and they'd leave her plenty of food. _She'll be fine_, Merle thought as he rubbed his temples with his fingers. Then his mind conjured up images of that girl with those men, the one that Emma had begged him to rescue; then his brain did something strange and put Emma's face on that girl's body. Plopping down on his ass, he tried not to think about it but he started wondering what would become of her if she fell into hands as evil as that. Merle was no saint but he wasn't a bastard.

"Mother fucking bitch of a…" he trailed off since no one would hear him and Merle always enjoyed shocking people with his creative variety of profanity.

_That woman was gonna be the death of him. _

With a groan, he pulled himself off the ground and thought hard about snorting another line since thoughts about their situation had ruined his goddamn high. He cursed again, blaming Emma for getting into his head and making him give a shit about her. Merle wasn't supposed to care about people. It only made life harder when you started worrying about people and depending on them. It never ended well. He knew that from experience.

Just as he was about to pull his baggie out of his jacket, he heard a twig snap from behind him. Pulling his knife out of its sheath, he peeked around the trunk of the tree and was met head on with groaning biter.

"Fuck!"

He thrust the blade of the knife up through its chin and into the bottom of its brain. It dropped quickly but it wasn't alone. Several more had come up behind him, shuffling faster now that they'd spotted him.

"Where tha fuck did you all come from?" He would have shit himself if one of them answered.

After taking down three more, he was starting to get worried—they were surrounding him and coming fast. He needed to get the fuck outta there and the only way he could do it was with his revolver; which meant that a hell of a lot more were gonna come for him after he fired it. With no other choice, he pulled his gun out and took out four more, which cleared a path for him to get the fuck out of dodge.

Then he ran as fast as his tired legs could carry him.

He didn't get far before a tree branch caught his forearm; he could feel his skin tear and the blood start to seep out of the wound. It wasn't deep but it hurt like a bitch and the smell of the blood made the biter's movement more aggressive. They seemed quicker with the added incentive of freshly exposed meat. These things were more like animals than humans—motivated only by the crucial need to feed. With only four bullets left, he avoided the walking dead the best he could without having a confrontation. They were like a fucking swarm of bumblebees, growling and groaning as they stretched their arms out toward him.

"Ugly bitch," he grumbled as he plunged his knife into one's forehead; he pulled it out quickly and kept running.

Just as he was making headway on them, just as he was positive that he was gonna make it out of this alive, his foot caught on a fucking tree root. Merle couldn't remember a single time that he'd tripped over a tree root. In fact, Merle was really damn positive that he'd never, ever fell a single time in his whole goddamn life but there's a first for everything, apparently. Not only did he trip and lose his footing but on his way down, he took a header into hard trunk of a big ass oak tree.

He rolled over onto his back, stunned and momentarily forgetting what the fuck he was running from. His eyes grew suddenly heavy and his lungs ached for breath as he lay there, staring up at the clouds. The trees swayed lightly and began to blur; quiet surrounded him and everything suddenly seemed a little darker. The whole thing was peaceful and if he could just close his eyes for just a few minutes; a little cat nap would do wonders for—

"Merle!"

_Christ. What did that fuckin' woman want NOW?!_

"Tryin' ta sleep, dammit…" And on that he closed his eyes, letting a small grin flutter over his lips. If it weren't for the hungry groans of the dead, he would have just floated off into dreamland where dead people don't rise and flushing toilets still existed. He snapped his eyes open but couldn't muster up the energy to get up. There was one right there, reaching for him, so close; with a groan he tried to lift his head and found that it had managed to gain weight as he lay there on the ground, trying to nap. Just as he attempted to raise the knife toward the monster rushing at him, a vision of feet and legs flew over top of him. Merle was amazed as he watched her, standing over top of him like some sort of feral lioness protecting her cub. It didn't do him any good to realize that he was the cub in this situation so he managed to lift his heavy-ass head off the ground long enough to watch her slicing through zombie heads like she'd been doing it her whole life.

After she'd taken out all the immediate danger, she moved away from him and started taking out the ones that showed up late to the let's-all-eat-Merle party. The redneck couldn't help but watch her with a new sense of respect as she cut into flesh and bone and brain with no hesitation. Not only had she become a survivor but she was hot as shit as she did it—her dark hair was wild on her head, her jeans sat low on those curvy hips and she growled out some fucked up battle cry with each zombie she slaughtered. Maybe it was the gratitude talking, for saving his life, but there was nothing more that he wanted to do in that moment than tear those pants off of her, bend her over and stick it in her good.

Unfortunately, Merle's fantasy hadn't even gotten to the tearing-off-the-pants part before he felt something pawing at his leg. He raised his head and saw a downed biter, reaching for his lower leg; its fingernails scratched at his pants and tried to scoot closer, chomping down in an effort to take a bite. For just a moment, the thought of giving up occurred to the redneck. He'd been through a lot of shit in his life—a fucked up family, a short stint in The Marines and a longer one in the stockade, a painful six months of The Clap—but he'd never thought about throwing in the towel until now. He wondered what it would feel like to just let those teeth sink into his flesh, let the virus flood through his bloodstream and take over his body. He could just lay back, close his eyes and let sleep come without having to worry about that pussy brother of his or how he was gonna get into that woman's pants. At the thought of Emma, he turned and watched her, taking out the remaining few biters. She had to have put down at least fifteen all by herself and it would have been a damn shame to make her go through all that for nothing. Plus, there was one heading right for her back that she didn't see coming.

"Well, shit…" Merle drawled out before getting to his feet. The zombie who'd almost made a meal out of his shin, growled at him as if it was trying to show its dislike in his movement. To shut it up, he stomped on its head and smashed its brains into the earth.

Just as he released his knife into the air, he saw her turn and see the biter. Realization flooded over her features as she tried to raise the machete into the air, knowing full well that it was too close for her to make the connection in time. It was inches away from her arm, its rotting breath probably making the hairs on her skin stand on end. Merle stood in awe of her in that moment; the acceptance that poured out of her eyes as she knew, without a doubt, that that thing was going to kill her was so powerful that it almost brought him to his knees. She would have died there, for him, in those woods and she wouldn't have regretted it. It took him back to those days as a soldier, going through boot camp with men that you depended on to save your life. Those boys that quickly turned into men with each step they took toward the enemy.

The knife plunged through its skull just as it made contact with her. She was lucky that he was so damn good with a blade. The dead body fell, pulling her down with it and Merle had hope for the first time in a long fucking time; hope that it hadn't gotten to her before his knife got to it. He wasn't sure why because not even an hour ago, he was willing to leave her grouchy ass behind to fend for herself. Merle couldn't explain it. And he didn't fucking want to.

He stood in place, a good twelve feet away from her as she pushed the body off of her and rose off the ground. Cautiously, she looked around her and sighed when she didn't see anyone but the two of them, standing there like a couple of potato sacks. At first, he thought she wasn't going to say anything but then her eyes caught sight of the blood on his arm where the tree had gotten him. She dropped her machete and it stuck blade first into the ground. Of course, she paid no mind to how loud she was as she stomped over snapping twigs and cluttered earth because keeping quiet would have been just too smart.

"Are…did you…" She struggled with words which was a first, it seemed, as she pointed to the blood on his arm.

Instinctively, he wiped it on his side. "Looks worse than it is."

She let out a shaky breath. "So, you're not bit?"

"Hell no," he replied and looked her over once. "You?"

Biting her lower lip, she shook her head as she looked up at him. Merle grew uncomfortable under her gaze and cursed softly under his breath. Unable to stop himself, he let his eyes wander to her's and as soon as he saw those big crocodile tears on the verge of slipping out of those brown eyes, he let out a louder curse. Nothing was worse than a crying woman. Nothing. Merle wasn't a nurturer nor did he ever learn the art of being a comforter so when people got upset around him, the only thing he could think of to do was make a quick exit.

So, that's what he did.

Moving around her, he walked over and pulled his knife out of the zombie's skull, groaning at the pain that moved through his skull as he bent over. In another laborious move, he pulled her machete out of the ground and held it out for her to take, without even glancing at her.

When he didn't feel a tug, he grew impatient. "Ya gonna take it er what? Yer always bitchin' 'bout havin' a weapon so here it is."

"I'm sorry, Merle." Her voice was shaky and strained and the emotion laced through it was like poison to a Dixon's ears.

"Jesus," he groaned, "can we jus' git back ta camp? Where's ma brother anyhow?"

She cleared her throat. "Uh, he went for gas. I heard your gun and—"

"Shit," Merle said finally turning in her direction, "Musta dropped ma revolver after I fell."

As they kicked leaves around with their feet in search of the weapon, Merle ignored the sniffling coming from the woman next to him. All he wanted to do was find that gun and get the fuck away from her until she pulled herself together but that sneaky revolver was nowhere to be seen. Finally, she squeaked out a "here it is" and Merle groaned out a sigh of relief. He walked over to her and snatched the gun out of her hands, relieved that he could finally get out of this uncomfortable—

Without warning, she attacked him. At first, he wasn't sure what she was doing but then he felt her arms loop around his neck and she pulled him tightly into her body. Her body shook as she sobbed into crook of his neck; wet tears trailed down his collarbone and into his shirt. It was really mother fucking uncomfortable and he didn't have the slightest clue on how to make it stop so he gave her back a few there-there pats as he blew a breath into her hair. A line of Coke would have been heavenly at that point.

"I'm sorry," she cried, "I'm sorry…"

"The hell ya sorry for?" he asked.

He felt something bubble out of her nose and he rolled his eyes at the surefire snot that had just splattered on his neck.

"I've been terrible and you...you could have died because of me and…" Her sobs grew louder and Merle grew more uncomfortable.

The man wasn't stupid. He knew that this wasn't about him. This whole thing was about that dog of hers. She hadn't accepted that he was gone and it had turned her into a raging bitch. He'd caught plenty of that Dr. Phil shit, when his brother would watch them, to know that this was how normal people healed after a loss. They got angry. They cried. They fucked shit up. But Merle wasn't normal and the world couldn't expect him to deal with someone like this in a normal fashion.

It wasn't all bad, however—her nice little tits were pressed firmly into his abdomen and he took the opportunity to rest his hand on the curve of her lower back. But the snot and the tears and the blubbering just killed his mood.

_Why the fuck do women have to be so emotional?_

When Merle weighed the pros and cons in his head of having to continue this whole ordeal, he came to the conclusion that this whole titties-pressing-against-him thing didn't make being snotted on worth it. So, he did what he could to get out of it without causing more goddamn tears. In a swift move, he yanked her away from him and looked over her shoulder.

"Did ya hear that?" he whispered. "Somethin's out there…"

Emma was on immediate alert. She grabbed her machete out of his hand and held it in front of her. Merle raised his eyebrows at how badly her hands were shaking and how her breathing quickened. He didn't really feel too bad that he'd caused her to panic since it was her fault with all the crying and shit.

"We better git back," he whispered. "I never got ta eat ma squirrel."

They walked back in silence, Emma still sniffling but keeping her wits about her due to the constant fake noises that Merle would hear in the woods. Merle was pretty proud of himself for his acting job since he really didn't hear anything suspicious the entire walk back.

"Ya do good with tha' machete," he remarked when they got back to their little camp by the road. The truck and Daryl were still missing. His brother had missed out on a lot of fucking action. "Ya took down 'bout twelve biters by ya'self back there."

"Fifteen," she corrected. "I think I might have blacked out. I don't remember even killing half of them. I just…saw you on the ground and got pissed because I thought they'd gotten you. I didn't want to lose someone else. I've already…"

Merle cringed behind her, thinking that his comment was going to set her off again. That's what he gets for throwing out a fucking compliment. He liked it better when he pissed her off and she screamed instead of cried. Just as he was thinking of some sort of insult to change her mood, she continued, thankfully tear free.

"I really hadn't even thought about my mom being gone until the past couple of days. Then I lost Char and then Max…" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "I couldn't lose someone else."

While Merle was a little touched at her statement, he was a little confused. "The hell would it matter ta you if I bit tha dust?"

Emma shot him a confused look. "What do you mean? What would it matter to me?"

Merle grabbed his baggie of Coke out of his pocket and sat down on the ground next to all their bags and shit. "Well, if I was gone, then you an' Daryl could go and be a happy lil' couple. Ya could go find ya daughter and be tha family tha' ya always wanted ta be."

Before Emma could respond, Merle changed the subject because he could tell by the open-jawed look on her face that she was about to spew out a whole shit load of feelings. "So, who's this Flanery that we hear so much about?"

Her eyes widened and she snapped her jaw closed. Looking down, she started fiddling with the closest back to her which happened to be Daryl's clothing bag. "W-what? Who…why are you…what do you mean?"

_Oh. So that's the game she was gonna play._

Merle grinned as he found a nice, flat rock and carefully pulled open his baggie full of pretty, white dust. He knew he'd just snorted a line not even an hour ago but it had been a really fucking dramatic hour so he forgave himself for this one. "I can tell by that shocked look on yer face tha' ya know damn well who Flanery is. Ya talk about him in yer sleep all the damn time. If it ain't yer lil' girl, yer talkin' about this Flanery."

Emma cleared her throat and reached into Daryl's clothing bag, pulling out what looked like dirty underwear. When she realized what it was, her face turned bright red and she shoved them back into his bag. "Never figured Daryl as a tighty whitey kinda guy."

"Nuh uh, girlie, ya don't git ta change the subject on me. The Daryl's-underwear topic will have to wait fer dinner. I'm askin' ya who—"

Emma cut him off. "Why exactly do you care? Why do you have to know? I mean, it's my fucking business, right?"

Merle took a nice sniff of Lady Snow through his rolled up dollar bill before answering, "Ya don't think its ma business?"

It was comical how proud and determined she looked as she shook her head and pushed her pointy, little chin into the air. The Coke rushed into his bloodstream quick and he felt himself leaning back, resting his elbows onto the ground.

"Ya wanna know why it's ma business?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine. But that doesn't mean that I'll tell you."

Merle got up, fighting his desire to close his eyes and take a cat nap, and moved over next to her. Her eyes followed his movements carefully and questionably. When he was close enough to her, he leaned toward her and grinned. "It's ma business 'cause ya moan out his name in ya sleep and I wake up with a dick so hard tha' I could use it ta kill biters with."

Emma audibly gulped and her voice cracked when she spoke. "Well, I still don't think that—"

Merle wasn't finished. "How'd ya like ta wake up every fuckin' morning, feelin' so horny tha' a hole in a tree is lookin' mighty temptin' all 'cause one 'a yer comrades can't quit moanin' in 'er sleep."

This time, Emma looked away, fiddling with Daryl's dirty clothes bag again. "It's not my fault that I—"

"I've seen ya touch ya'self too." Emma gasped and Merle watched her face go from bright red to pale. He moved closer so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Oh yeah, I've seen ya hand wigglin' down under tha covers while ya pant out tha' fucker's name."

The woman looked like she was either going to pass out or vomit. Instead, she made some sort of weird noise that reminded Merle of that horror movie where the girl with the weird hair crawls out of the well. While it was amusing to watch, he didn't want to take the chance of Emma bursting into tears again so he backed up and shrugged his shoulders.

"Tha' is how it's ma fuckin' business." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Now, if ya wanna help me out by yankin' on ma dick every mornin', ya can moan his name all ya damn well please."

Emma let out a noise that was mixture of a snort and a choke. "How many times have I told you that these hands will never touch your dick?"

Merle winked. "An' how many times have I told ya that 'never' is a really strong word ta use."

Emma sighed, "Pretty much every time."

"An' there ya have it."

* * *

"Son of a bitch!"

Merle grinned. "The hell's wrong, Princess? Break a nail?"

"No, I think I just ripped my pants," she replied, her voice almost a whine.

Typically, it grated on Merle's nerves when she'd use that tone of voice and he'd let her know about it; not that she paid any attention to what bothered Merle. But he was having a good day. They'd come across a hunting store that had some ammo left and a nice Compound bow complete with arrows. Daryl was still using the Crossbow from Athens but the Compound gave Merle something quiet to shoot. Plus, Crossbows were for pussies that didn't have the strength to pull back the string. He'd had a heated discussion with Emma about who got control of the bow and he walked away victorious. Not that she had any choice—he was bigger and badder and a hell of a lot more skilled with the bow than she was. It only made sense that he'd get to keep it.

Not only had they struck gold with the hunting store but Emma seemed to be back to her old self; like she was before the dog died. Sure, she talked non-stop and argued with Merle on every little thing but she seemed to get the spunk back that she'd lost when Max had been left behind for the biters. Merle still caught a haunted look in her eyes but it wouldn't stay for long; it would just sorta creep up as they settled in for the night. He assumed that it was her, wondering where her daughter was and if she was safe.

"Ya _think_ ya just ripped yer pants or ya _did_ rip yer pants?" Merle asked, not in the mood for riddles.

Emma sighed and turned around so that she had her back to him. "You tell me."

Merle barked out a laugh as his eyes followed the long rip that went up the seam of the back of her jeans. He could just make out the black panties that she had on underneath. He ran a fingertip up the rip just to piss her off. She yelped and jumped forward, smacking him hard on the arm when she turned around. There wasn't a hint of amusement on her face but he knew deep down that she didn't fully hate it. After all, none of them had gotten laid in what seemed like years. She was just as horny as he was and her little naughty dreams at night proved it.

"The hells wrong with you?" Daryl asked her as she stomped past him.

"I have to change my pants," she snapped.

Daryl screwed up his face and looked at his brother.

Merle shrugged. "She's got tha shits."

"I heard that!" She yelled with venom in her voice. "I do not! They tore right up the ass!"

The younger Dixon rolled his eyes. "Would ya keep it down! Do ya want every motherfucker—dead or alive—ta come wanderin' toward us? Christ!"

Merle chuckled. "She's a hoot."

Daryl's shot his brother a what-the-fuck look. "What's got you feelin' so damn chipper?"

Before Merle could respond, they heard the sound of a car coming down the highway toward them. Immediately, they ran around the other side of the truck and grabbed their guns. Emma hobbled out of the bushes in her underwear with one foot in a pair of jeans, cursing like a sailor.

"Jus' git behind them trees and watch yer back!" Daryl hissed at her but instead, she pulled up her pants and grabbed her machete. As she hunched down beside Merle, Daryl mumbled, "Or don't listen an' come out 'ere like ya know what yer doin'."

"Fuck off, Daryl," she grumbled back. "This ain't my first rodeo."

Daryl grunted.

The red car coming toward them was an economy car. It didn't seem to be slowing down and Emma blew out a sigh of relief as it passed them, probably not even noticing them there. They didn't like confrontations with the living, unless they had a certain blonde girl in their company. Merle squinted to see inside the car as it drove by, trying to get a good view of the inside.

"Nope. Jus' a driver. If she's in there, she'd be in tha trunk," the older Dixon noted as the car drove past them.

Emma groaned. "Nice, Merle. Now, I'm gonna be having nightmares about Charlotte stuck in a truck."

"Well," Merle sighed. "That's better than yer typical moanin'. My balls are bluer than tha fuckin' Smurfs."

"So, go find a tree with a good hole and—"

Sex talk—even insulting sex talk—made Daryl squirm so he cut them off. "We're gonna have ta go hunt. I'm sick 'a beans an' canned peaches."

"Fine," Merle grunted. "I'll go get us somethin' 'sides squirrels. Sick 'a squirrels."

Daryl huffed. "Go ahead! I guarantee yer ass'll bring back squirrels."

Two hours later, Merle walked out of the trees with five squirrels and what looked like a baby rabbit hanging off his belt. He frowned and pointed in warning at a snickering Daryl.

"Is that a baby rabbit?" Emma asked, trying not to laugh. Merle grunted an affirmative. "How could you kill Thumper? That's just wrong."

"Who tha hell is Thumper?" Merle asked, tossing their soon-to-be dinner down on the ground at her feet. She handed him a water bottle and he snatched it out of her hands.

"I don't wanna talk about it. Just know that you should feel bad for killing Thumper."

"Well," Merle sighed, "whatever. Ya don't like it, don't eat it."

Daryl had been trying to teach Emma how to skin and clean game but not only did she hate to do it, she was horrible at it. When she damn near sliced her thumb off, that's when they prohibited her from doing any sort of food preparation with the knife. They told her that the day they shoot a wild turkey, they'll let her pluck out all its feathers.

So, while the boys gutted Thumper, Emma soaked some of their dirty clothes in a big pot of boiling water. They were all running out of clothes. They'd have to find a Walmart soon to replenish their supplies. Walmarts were scary business during the zombie apocalypse. People took them over and created little towns inside of them, like some sort of redneck cult. Merle thought they were pretty fucking cool and the first Walmart they came across that hadn't been claimed, he was going to dub it, "Merle's World".

Just as they got the meat on to cook, they heard the sound of a car engine. Emma grabbed her machete and hunkered down beside the log. They were a little ways into the woods so whoever it was wouldn't be able to see them but they could see their truck. Merle cursed and pulled his gun out of the belt of his pants.

"Sounds like they're stoppin'," Daryl mumbled.

Sure enough, the engine grew softer and the brakes squealed as the car came to a stop. They moved closer so that they could keep an eye on whomever it was disturbing their dinner. It was the same car they'd seen previously that day—the small, red one with only the one person. They could have picked up friends, though and Merle was on edge. It had taken guts and energy to collect all the goods they had in that truck and he'd be damned if he was going to let someone just walk off with it. This shithead didn't know what he was dealing with.

Merle gave Emma the stink eye as she settled between them as they glared at all their supplies stashed in the bed of the truck. "Would ya stay back for two fuckin' seconds?"

Emma cocked her head and smiled as she whispered, "Awww…Merle, are you worried about me?"

Merle grew uncomfortable and shifted his weight onto his knee. "Hell, no. Jus' don't want'cha ta fuck this up."

"Jesus," she muttered, "How many biters do I have to take out before I prove myself to you dickheads?"

"Would ya shut up?" Daryl hissed.

Merle grunted in agreement with his little brother. It wasn't that he was worried about Emma… Well, okay, he was a little because women were at a serious disadvantage in this whole apocalypse thing. It seemed that men were the ones to lose their shit and become psychos when the world goes to shit. They'd come across a few that looked at their female companion like they were two seconds from snatching her up, caveman-style, and putting her through a living nightmare. And Emma was either oblivious or didn't have the sense to be scared. If this fucker stopping had help and they wanted her bad enough, the whole thing could turn into a bloody mess. Not that the blood would come from anyone with the last name Dixon but still…

The man got out of the car and looked around as he adjusted his baseball cap. He wasn't a big guy but it didn't take a big guy to pull a trigger so it didn't make Merle feel any better. With a few flicks of his fingers and a look, he told his brother that he was going to circle around and come in from the side so he could get a better view of the stranger's car.

As he circled around, he watched the guy move closer to the truck and look around again, watching for trouble. Merle internally scoffed because the guy certainly wasn't smart. He wasn't carrying a gun unless it was in an ankle holster and what fucking purpose would that serve. The only weapon that he appeared to be carrying was a hammer stuck in through his belt. It was bloody so Merle knew that he at least knew how to bash in a few zombie brains.

Just as the guy was peering into the bed of the truck, he watched Daryl come out of the woods with his crossbow aimed right at the fucker's head. This was Merle's cue. The fucker was distracted, his hands raised up in the air and squealing like a stuck pig.

"I didn't know it belonged to anyone! I swear! I was just…looking!"

"Yeah, jus' lookin'," Daryl growled. "Ya think tha' this truck was jus' sittin here like some sorta gift from God?"

"No! No!" The guy shifted on his feet. "Look, we need food and I was just…I was just trying to…"

As Merle got closer, he aimed his revolver at the guy and snuck a glance into the bushes. Emma was hunkering down in the brush, attempting to snarl and shaking that machete in the air like she thought she was something dangerous. Merle knew what she could do against the dead but he didn't think she'd have it in her to off someone still breathing.

The stranger appeared to be younger than he'd first assumed—maybe early twenties. By first appearance, Merle was shocked that the kid had made it this far in this world. He looked like one of those errand boys that deliver groceries out of the food mart—small, wiry and harmless. Plus, he was a Chink and everyone knows that Chinks ain't got no clue how to use a gun unless it's equipped with a launch pad.

"I'll just go, okay? I didn't—"

Merle spoke up, a little louder than necessary in hopes that the piece of shit would piss his pants, "Ya ain't goin' nowhere, boy!"

The kid jumped and yelped but there was no evidence of urine seeping through his pants. Merle frowned at that. The guy looked between Merle and Daryl and apparently, Emma had gotten impatient because she was stumbling out of the bushes, sounding like a fucking elephant on a rampage. She was still trying to look mean, but only managing to look constipated, as she waved her big blade in the air at the kid.

"I'm sorry! Shit! I'm sorry! I'm out here looking for supplies! There's a group of us! There's…kids and families and we're running out of food so I—"

"We've been through here all month and we haven't seen you before," Emma said, putting her weapon down a little. Merle rolled his eyes at how trusting she could be. He could see it on her face that all the kid had to do was grin at her and she'd skip to his car and hop in. "Where are ya'll at?"

The chink sighed as if he was relieved that he'd live to see another day. Merle moved closer and snarled just to keep the kid on his toes. "Uh…"—his eyes widened at Merle's proximity to him—"…we're up in the woods, on a big hill. Been there for about three weeks. There's a lake and we've caught some good fish but…not enough."

"Well, git on yer way, Chinaman," Daryl said. "We ain't got no rice or dead cats here for ya'll ta take for dinner."

"Daryl…" Emma said.

The younger Dixon shot Emma a warning look. "No…"

The little dude was smarter than Merle had thought and caught onto their silent communication. "You guys could come!" He smiled a little at his own idea. "We have extra tents and…and even a shower in the RV! It would be good to have some, uh, more guys who know how to handle guns. Since we moved up there, we've only seen a few walkers, too. Something about the high ground keeps them away."

Merle could feel Emma's stare burning over his face. "We don't need your shitty hill; doin' just fine on our own."

"Merle…" Emma's voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

"Shut tha fuck up, woman," Merle snapped without even looking at her.

"We…we have to consider that maybe…maybe she's gone." Her voice cracked and Merle finally looked at her. She'd completely dropped the machete to her side and her shoulders were slumped. It hit him then—she'd given up. He wasn't sure when it happened but at some point, she'd stopped believing that they'd find her. "You and…you both have done so much but it's time to just…stop."

"Stop wha'?" Daryl asked, sneering at her.

_He'd always been the slow one_, Merle thought.

"She wants us ta leave 'er with tha Chink," Merle replied.

"It's not that I want you to leave, it's just…" Emma took a deep breath. "It's what you wanted, right? To go to your cabin and live off the fat of the land?"

"And tend to your rabbits…" The Asian chimed in softly followed by a snort.

Merle and Daryl both pointed their guns at his head and snarled in unison. The slight grin fell from the stranger's face and he cowered.

Emma grinned. "See? He's quoting John Steinbeck. He must be harmless."

Merle thought that line of thinking was pure fucking nuts and he was able to prove it. "There ain't no sin and there ain't no virtue. There's just stuff people do."

The moment Emma realized that Merle had just thrown out a Steinbeck quote was rather amusing. Her eyes widened just a little and she snapped her eyes to him. If Merle wasn't on such high alert, he would have made a comment about putting something in that pretty little mouth of hers that was open wide with astonishment. It was a common misperception of Merle and Daryl—that they were both inbred jerks with shit for brains. Sure, they could be assholes but their parents sure as hell weren't related and they'd both been smarter than they should have been.

"Ya ain't seriously thinkin' 'a jus' goin' with this kid?" Daryl asked her.

Emma nodded. "What else am I gonna do? If I stay with you guys, I'll probably end up getting you killed."

The surrender seeped over her features like thick mud which was an odd thing to affect Merle like it did. He wanted to shake her and tell her that they'd gone this far, why stop now? He wanted to call her names that would get her angry and make her want to fight. He wanted that fire back that had disappeared when that damn dog had died. But he couldn't act like he cared because that would make every little insult he'd thrown at her for the past few months null and void.

"Ya say ya got a lake?" Merle asked. The Chink nodded furiously. "We'll follow ya there."

"O-okay…" It was obvious that the whole thing didn't set well with the kid but what could he do. He was walking away from this with zero lead in his belly and for that he was thankful. "By the way, I'm Glenn."

Their female companion walked over to him and held her hand out. Apprehensively, he shook it as she told him her name and then he got back into his car as he waited for them to pack up all their stuff. Emma gave Glenn one of the squirrels they'd just cooked—and burnt—as a show of good faith and he was gracious for some actual meat.

"It ain't cat but it'll put some hair on yer chest," Merle commented.

Glenn made a noise and screwed his face up in disgust. "I've never eaten cat. I was born here. I'm an American."

"Well, I'm sure ya got relatives tha' eat cats."

Glenn looked like he wanted to argue but instead, let out an exhausted sigh.

The ride to the hill was short and quiet. Daryl was upset and Merle was looking forward to a nice, buck-naked swim to get all the grime and zombie guts out of all the cracks and crevices. He was leery about eating fish out of the lake but he'd check the situation out. They'd stay for one night…long enough to make sure that it was safe for Emma and then they'd be on their way. The cabin was where they wanted to be, she was right, so why prolong it if she didn't want them with her.

As they pulled up, various people walked out of tents and from behind parked cars. There was nothing threatening about them which was a huge mistake on their part. They could have been anybody. There was no defense set up, whatsoever, and if the Dixons wanted to take everything from them, they could do it in a heartbeat. These people were weak.

"Fuck me twice," Merle mumbled as he got out of the truck.

Out of nowhere, came a dark hair man carrying a rifle in his arms. At first, Merle thought he was military but then he noticed the "Police" hat he was wearing. As they stood in front of Daryl's truck, the guy gave each of them a once over, his eyes settling on Merle a little longer than the big redneck was comfortable with.

"Ya got a problem?" Merle asked, puffing out his chest.

Emma sighed audibly beside him and shot him a keep-your-cool glare that he rightfully ignored. If some pansy-ass mother fucker was going to give him a stare down, he wasn't going to just take it like a fucking pussy. Merle was the kind of guy who bent assholes over; he never did the bending.

The guy narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Glenn!"

Glenn put his hands in the air. "They gave me food. I almost took their stuff, not knowing that it was theirs and they—"

The cocky fucker adjusted the rifle in his hands as he cut the Chink off. "We need to have a word."

As they stalked off, Daryl mumbled a curse and went to pretend to grab something out of the back of his truck; but Merle knew that his brother was grabbing that six-shooter he had stashed under the seat. As he shot Daryl a look and a nod, he wondered just what they'd gotten themselves into. This guy was a dickhead and apparently the dumbass leader of their little gang of twats. Head Twat. They just should have stayed down by the road. They should have told that little Asian shit to fuck off. They should have—

The feel of Emma's hand on his forearm pulled Merle out of his thoughts. If it weren't for the caution in her touch and feel of her nails digging into his skin, he would have shrugged her off. But something was off with the way she grabbed him. Almost like she was supporting herself, clutching onto him to keep her knees from collapsing in on themselves.

"Merle…" Her voice was strained and cracked and he wondered now what in the fuck had made her cry.

He turned to ask her just that but she wasn't looking at him. Emma was gripping his arm, her eyes wide and panicked and her body stiff. Fighting the urge to pull his arm out of her grasp, he followed her field of vision.

"Well, shit…" he drawled as his eyes took in the long blonde hair of the girl in question. She was a good fifteen feet away but it was her. It had to be her. With her back to them, she was flailing her arms around, apparently involved in some stimulating story. She was a talker—Merle remembered that much. And just as the blonde finished her story and turned around, the woman clutching onto his arm, not only let go but passed the fuck out.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

**_A/N: So, Merle has feelings! YAY! And we caught up with our regular gang! YAY! And we possibly found Charlotte! YAY! Merle almost died! YA- I mean, NO, NO, NOOOO! But he didn't. What did ya'll think about Emma saving his life? She kinda owes him, doesn't she? _**

**_This will start to become a little familiar. I won't hardly ever go word for word with the show and I'm going to switch up a few things too. It's gonna get exciting, ya'll! Review! Tell me what you liked! Did I make you laugh? Make you cry? Bore you to pieces? Thanks for reading :)  
_**


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